


Sorcerer's Curse

by FaeryPeopleOfTheFutureDay



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:14:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 27,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25313668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaeryPeopleOfTheFutureDay/pseuds/FaeryPeopleOfTheFutureDay
Summary: No one will believe him, but Henry knows the truth. It's just like when everyone from the enchanted forest was sent to Storybrooke. Everyone from Storybrooke has been sent to another world without magic. His moms, his grandparents, and many other adults are in high school together. They're so much younger and they don't remember the lives they once had together, all except Henry.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	1. Emma

"You're really going to like our high school," Snow said from the driver's seat.

"Yeah?" Emma asked. She didn't seem convinced. Her foster family had taken her out of Storybrooke near the end of second grade. Now some supposed great uncle-in-law (or something like that) was in the process of adopting her and, as a result, she had returned to her old hometown. She had moved back to Storybrooke over the summer and the only people that she really knew were her neighbor Snow (who was a senior and could drive) and Snow's perfect boyfriend that Snow wouldn't (or couldn't) stop talking about. She had known Snow before she left. As thrilled as she was that she lived a few doors down from someone that she actually knew, Snow still saw her as a little 7 year old with pigtails, playing hopscotch and baking cupcakes in an easybake oven. Emma was fourteen now. She didn't need anyone to babysit her, especially someone only three years older than her.

"Don't worry about being new. It's the beginning of the school year, so all the freshmen are new."

"But they know each other from middle school. They've already formed their own cliques."

"Well Emily-" Snow started.

"Emma" Emma corrected. "No one's called me Emily since grade school."

Snow seemed a bit hurt by that, but she continued.

"Well, Emma," she annunciated slowly, as if the words didn't quite fit into her mouth. "If you don't find anyone to eat with at lunch, you are welcome to sit with me and David."

The car pulled to a stop in the school parking lot. Emma opened the door and began to get out.

"Thanks, but I'd rather not crash your date with Prince Charming." She started walking towards the school.

"Do you want me to walk you to class?" Snow called after her.

"It's a small school, I'm sure I can figure it out."

That strategy worked pretty well for the first few periods. Her schedule had room numbers on it, of course. But by 4th period, she was dreadfully confused. She was standing at the top of the staircase and beginning to grow quite nervous because of the lack of people in the hallways. That meant the bell was going to ring very soon.

"Are you lost?" asked a boy behind her. She turned and looked down the stairs. It was David Prince, Snow's boyfriend.

"No."

"Really?" he didn't seem convinced.

"I know exactly where I am and where I need to go, but this staircase is being difficult."

"The staircase?"

"It only goes to the second story. Am I supposed to just fly to the third?"

"There is no third story."

"But here it says that art class is in room 312." She showed him her schedule. "The 100's are on the first story and the 200's are on the second story, so the 300' must be…"

"In another building," he explained.

"There's another building?" He smiled in amusement at her ignorance.

"Why don't I walk you there?" He started down the stairs. She followed.

"I don't want to make you late for class. Just point me in the direction of this other building and I'll be on my way." He didn't stop.

"Emma, I'm in your art class."

"But you're like three grades ahead of me."

"Art's an elective, so you can pretty much take it any year you-" he was cut off by the sharp ring of the tardy bell. "…want"

"And now we're both late."

"Not necessarily."

As they walked through the door, they were greeted by a smiling man (probably the teacher) "Ah, you found her," he said to David. "So glad you could join us, Emily Swan. You will not be getting a lunch detention today, but do try to be on time in the future. As I was telling the class, my name is Mr. Zimmer."

David walked over to his seat where he had already put his backpack. Apparently, he had arrived in art class, put his stuff down, and then went out looking for her.

The table David was sitting at was already full, so Emma walked over to another table and sat in a seat near the window next to a girl with dark hair who glared at Emma suspiciously, as if she might suddenly turn into a frog and hop out the window.*


	2. Belle

"I still can't believe you're taking Senior French in Junior year." Ruby told Belle as they walked down the science hallway. Lunch had just ended and their 5th period classes were in the same hallway.

"AP French is only one year ahead. Why is that so surprising?"

"These past two years, you've been taking Latin. Now suddenly you want to dive into your first year of French, and you choose to take AP?"

"My mom speaks French, so I already know the language."

"Then why are you taking the class? Easy A?"

"Well, that and the fact that if I take the AP class, the school pays for the AP test."

"Ugg, AP tests."

"You're taking AP Chemistry."

"Speaking of." Ruby walked into her class.

Belle didn't understand why the French class was in the science hallway. The language classes were just scattered around like that. Chinese was in math, Spanish was in English, Latin was in history; the school's organization system was messed up.

She walked into class and took her seat. She began reading the posters on the walls. A _Restez calmes et conjuguez_ made her smile slightly. There were also diagrams of cartoon people with every body part labeled and an elaborate show of the names of colors, days of the week, and months. That was typical of any foreign language or kindergarten classroom.

"Bonjour class. Je m'appelle Madame Maleficent. Nous avons-" she was interrupted by a knocking at the door. Annoyed, she walked over to open it.

A boy with dark glasses and a cane cautiously walked into the room. He moved slowly, using the cane to feel the ground in front of him like a blind man.

"Est-ce que c'est la classe de francais?" he asked. _Is this French class?_

"Asseyez vous, Monsieur Or," The teacher commanded. _Sit down, Mister Gold_.

He threw up his cane, caught it in the middle, and proceeded to walk over and take the seat next to Belle. Madame Maleficent continued to speak to the class. _He's not blind,_ Belle realized; _he's a showman_. _He's also kind of cute._

"You sure you can find your way to your next period?" she whispered to him while the teacher was writing on the board.

"I have no way, and therefore want no eyes." He said in a mock British accent. He flicked his sunglasses up for a split second, revealing bloody sockets where his eyes should have been.

Belle put her right hand over her mouth, but it did little to muffle the squeal of fear. Madame Maleficent glared at her with eyes of fire, almost as frightening as Monsieur Or's, and turned back to the board.

"Relax," he whispered to her, taking his glasses off completely. She looked down at her desk, not wanting to rest her eyes on that gory sight once more, but his fingers lifted her chin up and moved her head until she was staring directly into his brown eyes.

"It's fake." He closed and opened his eyes slowly a few times so that she could see that it was only stage makeup coating his eyelids creating the illusion that his eyes had been gouged out. "We're putting on King Lear, and I'm playing-"

"Gloucester," Belle finished. She had completely forgotten to whisper.

"Taisez-vous, Mademoiselle Francais" the teacher snarled angrily and loudly, without even turning around. _Shut up, Miss French._

They both stayed silent for the rest of the period while Madame Angry Dragon Lady lectured about verb conjugation and the importance of the French language in modern day society. She spent a good ten minutes explaining explicitly that si vous voulez parler, vous devez parler en francais. _If you want to talk, you must speak in French._ English will not be tolerated in French class.

After the bell rang and she started walking out the door, Monsieur Or came up after her.

"You left your book in your desk." He told her as he handed it to her.

"Merci, Monsieur Or."

"Rumpelstiltskin," he introduced himself, reaching his hand out to shake hers.

"Belle," she replied, taking his.


	3. Regina

"So

"So glad you could join us, Emily Swan," Mr. Zimmer told the clueless freshmen. "You will not be getting a lunch detention today, but do try to be on time in the future. As I was telling the class, my name is Mr. Zimmer."

Emily glanced over at Snow's Prince, whose table was full, and came over to sit next to Regina. Usually, freshmen don't bother Regina. After all, she had been a freshman only last year. But this was one particular freshman. This was Snow's girl.

Snow and Regina used to be friends, until last year when Snow found out about Regina's crust on Daniella. The entire school was talking about it within a week. The teasing would not stop, especially after Daniella moved away. Her mom got a new job out of town, but the kids at school insisted that she had moved to get away from Regina. After that, Regina swore revenge on Snow and anyone who associates themselves with her. She had tried going after Snow's Prince, but it proved futile.

Now she had a new someone to destroy.

Emily was looking at her suspiciously. Apparently Regina had been staring at her while she was plotting. _Quick, do something._ Regina smiled.

"I'm Regina Mills."

"Emma Swan."

"Swan," she repeated. "What a nice-" she was cut off by the beeping of an intercom.

"Mr. Zimmer?" The voice asked.

"Yes," he replied.

"Could you send Regina Mills to the front office? We have a visitor for her."

"Sure."

It was her little brother Henry. He should be in middle school right now.

"Mom," he cried as he rushed over to hug her.

She held him by the shoulders and looked down into his eyes. "Henry, we talked about this, remember. I'm not your mom."

"Yes you are, you just can't remember it."

"Henry," she decided to take a logical approach to the situation this time. "I am fifteen. You are twelve. Do you think I gave birth to you at age three?"

"You didn't give birth to me; you adopted me. Emma Swan is my birth mother."

"Where did you hear that name?"

"Do you remember her? Emma Swan: blonde hair, green eyes, daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming, sheriff of Storybrooke after you killed Graham."

"All except for that last bit, I believe I just met her in art class."

"So things are changing. Just like when she broke the first curse. Is she in art class now?"

"Yeah." Henry took off towards the fine arts building. _Even he can find art class_ , she thought. "Wait!"

"She broke the first curse, maybe she can do it again." She finally got him to slow down to a brisk walk.

"How did she break the first curse?" Regina didn't fully understand Henry's fantasy world, but she tried to play along. She drew the line at being his mother, however. She didn't need any more rumors about her circulating around school.

"She kissed me."

"Wow, isn't she a little old for you?"

"Not on the mouth, on the forehead, like moms do."

 _Just like our mom used to_ , Regina thought.

Ever since their mom left over the summer, Henry had been acting strange. His therapist Rafiki said that he had created another world to cope with the loss. He seemed convinced that Regina was his mother, that their father, Henry Mills Senior, was his grandfather, and that their older sister Cora was his grandmother. It made sense that he would create a mother to replace the one he lost, but she didn't understand why he insisted that so many people were dead. Cora was away at college, Daniella moved away, and their dad worked late a lot, so he didn't see them. In his world, if he didn't see someone very often, they were dead. It seemed quite morbid. In his world, their mother didn't even exist.

"Mom," he cried, bolting over to hug Emma. She looked at Regina, confused.

"Well, I've heard of teenage pregnancy, but I that's pushing it a bit far," Killian Jones interjected. Regina chose to ignore the self- absorbed junior.

"Henry, leave her alone." Regina ran over to pull her brother off the freshman. The entire class was staring at them.

"You've got to kiss my forehead," he told Emma.

"Uhhh…"

"Just do it." Regina told her, knowing that the sooner this happened, the sooner Henry would leave with her and go back to school.

"Okay." Emma kissed his forehead.

"Did it work, do you remember me?" he asked Emma.

"You're the kid who wanted me to kiss his forehead."

"Please Mom, try to remember." He looked at her with his brown eyes.

"Kid, I'm fourteen. I'm not your mom."

"Henry, I think you should go now." Regina told him. "Mr. Zimmer, can I walk my brother back to your middle school?"

"Sure," the teacher told her. Regina grabbed Henry's hand and started towards the door.

"There's got to be a way to fix this," he protested, but he seemed to realize that there was nothing else to be done here.


	4. Mulan

In first period, Mr. Midas started the roll call, and Mulan zoned out for the moment starring at the girl, marveling the way the light bounced off her golden brown curls. Mulan's name wasn't until later.

"Frost, Jack?"

"Here."

"Heart, Devin?"

"Here."

"Heart, Felix?"

"Here."

"Iago, Jafar?"

"Here."

"James, Jacqueline?"

"I'm here, but I prefer to be called Jack."

The girl's purple earrings hung from her ears and glistened, creating patterns of light on her desk, like bright shadows that moved when the girl stretched her neck or turned her head to face her admirer. Mulan suddenly became very interested in the grainy pattern of her desk.

"Mills, Regina?"

"Here."

Ping, Mulan?"

"Here." Mulan said, raising her hand so Mr. Midas could see her.

"Rose, Aurora?"

"Here."

Aurora Rose. Mulan had already known her name, of course. She learned it last year when she saw it in the school yearbook, but she hadn't been quite sure how to pronounce Aurora. For the longest time, she had been calling her Aura in her mind. Rose was a fitting name for her in that she was beautiful and smelled wonderful, like cotton candy. She was also fragile like a princess, probably more fragile than a rose itself, which had thorns to protect it from predators and romantics. But there wasn't any real danger posing a threat to Aurora, unless someone got really annoyed with her whining about getting mud on her shoes when they go outside for gym.

"Scarlet, Will?"

"Here."

"Ula, Draco?"

"It's DRAW-co YOU-la, not DRAKE-oh. I'm not a Slytherin." The teacher was not amused by his joke. "But I am here," Draco continued.

"Well, it seems that we're all here except for Miss Fitzherbert. Now class, turn your books to page…" he paused and began searching through his teacher version of the World History textbook to find the page number.

"394?" Devin guessed. His twin brother Felix snorted laughter.

"Mr. Heart, we will not be studying page 394 until next cycle, but if you cannot wait until then, you may do that on your own time. For now, everyone must turn to page xix to discuss periodization." He paused, staring at the class. "You will need to get out your books to do so."

"Mr. Midas? May I go get my book from my locker?" Regina asked, raising her hand.

"Why would you leave your history book in your locker? What good does it do you there?"

"Did any of you bring your books today?" Silence fell upon the class.

"It's the first day of school."

"Exactly, Mr. Scarlet. Summer break is over. You must all come prepared to class. I do not have time for all of you to get your books today, so I will have to shift my lesson plan. I will be talking about chapter one today, which I am requiring you to read for homework. Tomorrow, we will discuss periodization and every single one of you must bring your books."

After that, he began lecturing about ancient civilizations and Aurora fell asleep.

"Miss Rose!" He yelled as he slammed his meterstick down on her desk, loud enough to make Aurora not only wake up, but also jump with fear. "Will you please tell me the name for the river valley home to the oldest civilization?"

"Egypt?"

"I will give you a hint. This involves the Tigris and the Euphrates rivers, Miss Rose, not the Nile."

"Uhhh…"

"Would anyone like to help Miss Rose?"

He may have been hoping that no one would, hoping that he would have another excuse to ridicule the poor girl. It didn't matter. Mulan slowly raised her hand.

"Yes, Miss Ping?"

"Mesopotamia?"

"Was that a question?"

"Mesopotamia." She said firmly and decisively.

Mulan was glad when class was finally over. She walked out into the hallway.

"Excuse me?" Aurora tapped Mulan on the shoulder. "Can you go see-"

She gasped as Mulan turned and put her hand to her mouth.

"I am so," she placed a hand over her heart, "sorry." She placed her other hand over Mulan's. It was cold and soft. "I thought you were a boy for a second there."

Mulan didn't have a chance to reply because Aurora turned away from her and tapped Jack on the shoulder.

"Excuse me?" she asked Jack. He turned around to face her and she poked at the extremely visible veins in his forearm. "That's so weird," she tried to say to herself. Jack, probably feeling a bit uncomfortable, stepped away from her and crossed his thin pale arms.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"My boyfriend's supposed to walk me to class. Can you go see if my he's in the bathroom?"

"Yeah, I'm going to need a bit more of a description than boyfriend."

"We met a few days ago at orientation. He offered to carry my books, and then he-"

"Physical description," he interrupted.

"He's really cute."

"I got to get to class," Jack told her and walked away.

"There he is!" she squealed with delight. She ran over to hug the ninth grade boy. "Phillip, I missed you so much."

"I'm not Phillip," the boy told her.

"Oh," she pulled back and paused. "I really thought you said your name was Phillip. Whatever, boyfriend." She grabbed his hand, but he pulled away.

"I'm not your boyfriend." Aurora looked like she was going to cry.

"You're breaking up with me?"

"We were never dating."

"How can you be so cruel?" At this point, Aurora actually did start crying dramatically. Another boy that looked exactly like not-Phillip ran up from behind her.

"Aurora, don't cry, I'm right here," he told her. Her eyes moved back and forth between the two not-Phillips in confusion.

"But-" she started.

"I'm Phillip." The second boy explained. "This is my twin brother Thomas. Next time, I'll wear a symbol so you can tell us apart," he promised, holding out his elbow like a gentleman ready to escort her to class. "Maybe a red ribbon." They walked away smiling, happy as two people in love can be.

"Shouldn't she be walking him to class?" Mulan asked Thomas. "Since she's a year older and knows her way around the school?"

"I don't know how these things work," the boy replied. "I'm just trying to find Ella." He pulled out a girl's tennis shoe from his backpack and showed Mulan the name on the bottom. Ella. "I just found it in my desk. She probably brought a pair of these for gym, but left one behind in English."


	5. Wendy/Ruby

Wendy Darling followed Peter into the Cafeteria.

"See, Wendy," he gestured around the room. "No here. They're probably outside." They were trying to find the rest of Peter's 'boys,' as he called them, so they could eat lunch. This was the second place they had checked, and Wendy was very hungry.

Peter ran out the door into the courtyard, his arms flying behind him in the wind, and Wendy chased after him. It seemed as if she was always following Peter, but she didn't really mind. She had known Peter since the second grade when she defended him for being 6 turning 7 when everyone else was 7 turning 8. She had had a crush on him since the seventh grade. Not that he noticed. Or cared.

Peter leaped over bushes and Wendy followed in pursuit. Finally, he found the table he was looking for. He jumped laid down on it.

"Peter," they grinned.

"Boys, your king has returned," he told them. Both Peter and Wendy were in the ninth grade, but everyone else was in the tenth grade, so they had been separated for a year.

"Pan," Felix said, "I'm really glad you're here. I have to ask you something." His voice suddenly became very serious. "Are you a pixie?"

Peter raised his eyebrows up and down. "Maybe. Why?"

"Because you should have sex with me."

Everyone, including Felix, burst out laughing.

"That one doesn't even make sense, Felix," Devin told him.

Wendy rolled her eyes. She was the only girl in their group and often felt like she didn't really belong. She tried to laugh along with them, but still didn't quite understand what was so funny about Felix pretending to hit on Peter. At least she thought he was pretending. Maybe it was in her head, but for a moment there, Felix sounded completely serious.

"Hey nerds," spoke the dark haired boy as he sat down. The laughter stopped and Wendy stared at him.

"Baelfire?" The boy looked so much older than Wendy remembered. His hair was shorter, but he was starting to grow some on his chin. Baelfire had gone to a different middle school than the rest of him. He used to be a key part of their friend group, but he had been absent from it for quite some time.

"Wendy." He nodded at her and took a bite out of a red apple.

"Hey that's mine!" Felix exclaimed. Baelfire smirked and tossed it to him. After Felix caught it, he cast a glance at Baelfire that fell somewhere between angry and annoyed, but he ate the apple anyway.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

"You're taking AP Chemistry," Belle pointed out.

"Speaking of."

Ruby walked into her class to find a seating chart on the board. That was okay. She didn't really have any close friends in this class. She sat down in her assigned seat. It was junior year, so she knew most of the names already. Her cousin Robin, Robin's friend John Little, Merida Brave, Cyrus Glass, the Kingsley twins… But there was one name entirely unfamiliar to her. Victor Whale. When he walked in, she found out why.

He was a freshman, a small, blonde, probably German boy, equipped with glasses and a fistful of pens, whose head only came up to her shoulder. Ruby supposed that he was adorable in his own way.

After everyone was seated, Mr. Rajah put another list on the board.

"These are you lab groups." He passed out worksheets. "You are to complete these by the end of the period."

Ruby scanned through the paper. Lab safety. Boring.

Her lab group consisted of herself, the twins, and Victor.

"Uh, kid, the middle school's down the road." Jefferson Kingsley told Victor.

"Actually, I'm in ninth grade." He replied, with a matter-of-fact attitude.

"I think what my brother means is that, well… aren't you a bit young to be in this class?" Alice asked. "Most don't take it until their junior or senior year."

"That's not my problem."

"How is this group going?" Mr. Rajah asked the students, making his rounds. "I don't see anything written on your papers."

"I'm working, Mr. Rajah," Victor promised as he started labeling a map of the room with the eyewash station.

"I'm glad to hear that, Gherhart."

"Victor," he corrected.

"Right, Victor. You just look so much like your brother. How is he, by the way?"

"Well." Victor didn't look up from his worksheet.

"Didn't he join the army?"

"Yes." He seemed to be getting annoyed with being pestered while he was trying to work.


	6. Emma

David waved at Emma with his hand as she walked into the art classroom, pushing his backpack off of the seat next to him that he saved for her. She hesitated. Her seat next to the window, next to Regina, was empty. She was supposed to sit next to David, but Emma had never been good at doing what she was supposed to do.

Regina glared at Emma when she sat down, as if Emma were being shunned for some reason.

"What are you doing here, freshman?" She asked bitterly. "Your daddy saved you a seat."

"I know why you're here. You want me." A boy with hair as dark as his leather jacket and blue eyes told Emma, "and I don't blame you."

"Somehow, I doubt that she wants to sleep with an arrogant hooker that wears too much guyliner," Regina told him. The boy ignored her and continued to hit on Emma.

"My name is Killian, love," he leaned closer to Emma, "and not only am I a dashing, swashbuckling, rapscallion," his face was so close that she could feel the stubble on his unshaven chin scrape against her cheek, "I also have amazing genetics, so our kids won't be psychotic lunatics like her lad that thinks he's your son."

Emma pulled away from the boy, grabbed the cup positioned in the center of the table to clean the brushes, and splashed murky paint water all over Killian's face.

"Swan!" his eyes filled with hatred.

"I say that it looks like your makeup is running, pretty boy, and you better do the same before I punch you in the face."

"You will pay for this." He vowed as he grabbed the bathroom pass from the wall and left.

"I would have gone with the ink wash," Regina retorted. Emma laughed as she dipped her brush in blue. Regina tried hard not to smile.

"Why does your brother think that I'm his mother?" Emma asked after many moments of silence.

"He's not crazy," Regina promised. "He may be confused, or lonely, but-"

"Why would he be lonely?"

Regina sighed. Emma didn't think she wanted to answer that.

"Back when everything was normal," Regina began, "Henry never had any reason to pretend that anyone but his own mother was just that. But when she left…"

"Regina, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"It-it hurt all of us. My Dad works so much that I hardly ever see him anymore. Our sister's off in college doing who knows what, and I'm stuck taking care of Henry. I guess he started seeing me as a mother figure, but I have no idea why he's attached himself to you."

"E-excuse me," a nervous boy with glasses stuttered, tapping Emma on the shoulder. "Cou-could I could I have Mis-Mister Jones's backpack?"

"Mr. Who?" Emma asked.

"Killian," Regina explained to Emma. "Here, Billy," she handed the boy the bag. He took it graciously and carried it over to Killian, who was now sitting in the formerly empty seat next to David. Emma hadn't noticed him returning. David Prince eyed Killian Jones suspiciously.

"Billy Smee's in my grade." Regina explained. "He's one of his one of guyliner's minions."

"Do girls really like that jerk?" Emma asked Regina, referring to Killian.

"I don't like boys, but I've been told that he's attractive. He seems to believe that his bad boy attitude adds to the appeal."

"Why do boys think they have to act like jerks to get girls to like them? Yesterday morning in math class, this guy stole my pencil bag. The whole day, I was yelled at for not coming to class prepared."

"You could have borrowed my pencil."

"But how would I have been able to write on the sacred English worksheet with an unholy pencil?" Emma asked, mocking the silly rules of teachers.

"You could have borrowed a pen instead."

"But then Mrs. Lucas would have yelled at me for doing math in permanent ink. It's hard enough to keep straight what writing utensils are acceptable for each subject without cutpurses taking your pencil bags."

"Well, I think pens are for writing words, like in English and history class, but pencils are for writing numbers, like in math and science class."

"What if I'm writing out the words for numbers? Like F-O-U-R? What then?"

"Why would you need to write out the words for numbers?'

"I don't know. There might come a day when I need to, and I don't want to implode the universe by using the wrong writing instrument." At that point, Regina could no longer resist smiling. Her lips parted to reveal surprisingly white teeth, like something out of a toothpaste commercial. But it only lasted for a second. Regina regained her usual serious composure and expressionless scowl as quickly as Emma broke through it. Emma sensed that she had gone so long without laughing that the very act of smiling made her cheeks sore. Regina pulled out both a pen and a pencil out of her bag an offered them to Emma.

"Thanks, but I was able to get my pencil bag today, but that boy's going to have some trouble keeping time."

"Why's that?"

Emma rolled up her sleeve to show Regina the watch she stole.


	7. David/Snow

"Mate," Killian nodded to David as he sat down.

"Was that a greeting or an order?" David asked.

"I meant it as a greeting of friendship, but you are welcome to take it whatever way you like, so long as you don't douse me in watercolors like the blonde over there." David smirked and looked over at Emma. He would need to warn her about Regina later. Regina might seem nice on the outside, but she was pure evil.

"What did you do?" David asked Killian.

"Nothing."

"Nothing will come of nothing, speak again." Killian didn't seem to think that was funny. "Sorry, we're doing that play for the theater department."

"I didn't do anything worthy or attack. I just pointed out my good qualities to an otherwise oblivious Damsel. Ah, thank you Billy. Go sit down now."

"And how many people did you insult in your bragging about yourself?" David asked.

"I did her a service, and she threatened to punch my face."

"Well, if you don't stay away from her, you're going to need an eye patch, Captain Jack Sparrow."

"Was that a threat?"

"A statement." Killian smiled.

"I think you're starting to like me, mate."

"I'm not your mate."

David waited outside of the art classroom so that he could walk Emma over to the hillside where he ate lunch with Snow.

"Relax," Emma told Regina as they walked out. "I'll give it back tomorrow."

"Give what back?" David asked.

"Oh, nothing," Emma told him as Regina walked away.

"Look Emma, we need to talk about Regina."

"What about her?" she glanced back, but the other girl was already gone.

"I'm glad that you're making friends, Emma, but Regina…"

"What's wrong with Regina?"

"She's evil."

"Evil? What, did she take Johnathan Swift's advice and start eating children?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"You're the one that's being ridiculous, telling me who I can and can't be friends with. Do you even know her?"

"Better than you do. You just met her yesterday. Do you even know her last name?"

"I know her brother's name."

"So does our entire art class."

"Snow!" Emma walked up to her on the hillside. "Back me up here, tell David he's being ridiculous."

"What's going on?" Snow asked David.

"Emma wants to be friends with Regina."

"Oh, no honey. That's not a good idea. We'll find you a much better friends. My friend Elsa has a younger sister in your math class."

"I have twin brothers in your grade," David pointed out. "They're really nice. In fact, just yesterday, Thomas-"

"Stop!" Emma shouted. "I'm not three. I don't need you to set me up on playdates with anyone. You're not my parents."

"Emma, we're just trying to look out for you." Snow promised.

"I can look out for myself." Emma retorted and walked away.

* * *

It was a very awkward ride home. Emma was barely talking to Snow. She only got in the car because she knew that it was too far to walk home.

Snow tried to focus on the road, but she couldn't stop thinking about Emma and the danger she was in. Snow knew that she was responsible for starting the feud with Regina, but she also knew that she was powerless to end it. All Snow could do was try to protect others from the full blast of Regina's wrath. David didn't know the whole story, but he knew to stay away from Regina.

"How long are you going to ignore me Emma?"

No response. Emma watched the raindrops roll down the window like tears.

"I know that I'm not your mom, and you're right; I shouldn't act like I am. We used to be best friends, and I don't want to lose you again, so…" Her voice trailed off as she stepped out and opened her umbrella. "I'm sorry."

"Snow, I don't think that we'll ever stop being best friends," Emma muttered. "No matter how old I get… or who else I become friends with."

"I'm glad."

"Why do you hate Regina?" Emma asked.

Snow walked Emma to her front door with the umbrella so she wouldn't get wet.

"I don't hate her. She hates me. I made a mistake that she's never forgiven me for. Ever since then, she's been obsessed with getting revenge, not only on me, but also everyone I love. I didn't want you to get hurt in the middle of the crossfire."

Emma rang the doorbell. Evidently, she had forgotten her key. A small boy with red hair opened the door.

"Hello Emma," he said politely, moving aside so she could enter.

Snow walked to her house with her umbrella.


	8. Belle/Regina

The one thing Belle dreaded most of all at the beginning of the school year was homework. Going back to school wouldn't be that bad without all of the work outside of class constantly consuming what little free time she had. Disappointed that she would not be able to read _Gilderoy: The Mouse Prince_ tonight, she threw down her book on the coach and was surprised to see a slip of paper poking out of it.

Curious, she ventured over and pulled it out. This was not her book mark. It looked like a note. She read it. It was quite short.

_Ma chérie,_

_J'aime voir vos beaux yeux bleus. Si vous voulez parler plus avec moi en anglais._

Followed by a ten digit phone number. It was not signed, but she knew exactly who it was from. She entered the number of the eyeless Earl of Gloucester into her contacts.

Should she call him now? Was she supposed to wait a day or two? Ruby would know.

"Ruby?"

"Belle!" Ruby said with delight. "How was your day? I haven't seen you since lunch."

"Ug, lots of homework."

"Tell me about it. My backpack is so heavy. I can't even... But I'd rather not talk about it now. What else is up?"

"One of those senior boys from French class put a note in my book."

"Ooo…" Ruby was excited by that. "Is he cute? What did it say?"

"Ma Cherie, J'aime-" Belle started reading.

"In English, Belle."

"My dear, I like to see your beautiful blue eyes. If you would like to speak more in English,"

"And…"

"And then there's his phone number, but that's it. There aren't any more instructions. Am I supposed to call him today or just add his number to my contacts?"

"Do you _want_ to call him?"

"I guess it would be nice to be able to have a conversation without getting yelled at by an angry French professor, but I'm not exactly sure what I would say to him-"

A miniature explosion sounded downstairs in the basement, followed by the sounds of something breaking.

"I got to go, Ruby." Belle said, hanging up the phone and grabbing the fire extinguisher.

She ran down the stairs, jumping down the last three steps. She extinguished the small fire forming on her father's work table. He started cleaning up the broken glass.

"I'm having some trouble stabilizing the engine," he explained. "This valve just can't take the pressure," he said gesturing to broken glass.

"I'm sure you'll make it work eventually, Papa."

"Maybe if I use another material…" Her father's eyes got excited as he began muttering to himself. Belle knew that look. She knew that her father had entered another world, just as Belle did when she got involved in an interesting book. He would be unresponsive for a while. It was best to just let him think by himself when he got like this.

Belle went back upstairs and called back her friend.

"Sorry about that, Ruby. Something exploded downstairs in my Papa's lab. It's all good now."

"Madame Francais," spoke a voice that was certainly not Ruby. "So glad you decided to call. I am quite precious, though I must protest this nickname of Ruby."

"Rumple-" she started, tryting to remember the other syllables in his name

"-stiltskin" he finished. "Rumpelstiltskin Gold."

"I think I'll just call you Rumple. It's easier to say."

"Fine by me, beautiful." He paused. "That's your name in English. I was just…translating."

"Right."

"So, I'll let you get back to talking to your friend now, unless there's anything else you want to tell me."

"Next time, you can call me."

"Yeah, I have your number now. Warning: you will be getting lots of texts from me."

"Bye Rumple."

"Goodbye darling." He hung up before she could respond. Belle sighed and began working on her homework, a smile forming at her lips.

* * *

"I will destroy you if it is the last thing I do," Regina vowed as she hurdled a ball of fire at the boy.

He easily dodged the projectile and activated Smash. He jumped at her, bringing his sword down, but she teleported to the side and he hit only rock. Running to the far side of the stage, she attempted to use his lack of projectiles to her advantage. With every fireball she hurdled, she began to see that it was hopeless. The boy may not possess projectiles, but he could dodge them better than a level 9 CPU.

She had to attack him in close range. It was the only way to defeat him. He ran towards her and she let him approach, moving her fingers in anticipation of the magic she would use to send him flying across the screen. He opened up what looked like a blue vortex as he countered and sent her attack back at her, instantly destroying her last life as she flew beyond far beyond the outreaches of the screen.

"I can feel the power" Shulk spoke as Henry gloated over another victory. Regina sighed.

"If Ghirahim was a character rather than an assist trophy, your Australian surfer boy would have been beaten within an inch of his life long ago," she replied, mimicking the villain with an evil flick of her tongue.

"Nah, I'd still beat you. Is Emma having a birthday party next week?"

"How did you know about that?"

"Her birthday's on October 22nd, and that's next Thursday."

Regina decided not to question how he knew that.

"Yeah, she's having a sleepover. She invited me, but I'm not sure that I can go. I've called Dad a few times, but he hasn't called me back yet, so I'm not sure how I'm going to get there."

"I'm sure it will work out. Can we play another round?"

"Sure," Regina said, preparing herself for another defeat.


	9. Henry

The evening of October 23rd, Regina sighed impatiently and looked out the window, awaiting the return of a father that would never come home. She picked up the phone and dialed his number.

Regina, like many others, couldn't see the truth that Henry saw. The truth behind the veil.

"Regina," Henry spoke, forcing the name out of his mouth like yucky medicine. "He won't answer. He _never_ answers."

"Henry, I know our father works a lot, but he's still there when we need him."

"It's not his fault that he's not there. He's dead," Henry explained. ""But don't worry, because-"

"Henry, I know that you have this morbid fantasy of how life works, but it's gone too far. How do you think food appears in our fridge? Who do you think pays for our house, our electricity and our water?"

"Probably the magic of whoever cursed us."

"There's no such thing as magic."

The doorbell rang, interrupting their conversation. Regina answered the door.

"Excuse me, are you Regina Mills?" asked a boy Henry recognized as his former psychiatrist Archie. In this world, he was Jim, the son of Henry's psychiatrist Rafiki. "My name is Jiminy Hopper, well most people call me Jim, which actually-"

"Get on with it Jim," Regina interrupted impatiently.

"Right," he took off his glasses and rubbed the lenses with his shirt. "I'm supposed to drive you to a girl's sleepover."

"Why? I don't even know you."

"I do," Henry chimed in. "That's what I was trying to tell you. I called Emma and told her-"

The teenagers ignored him.

"Technically, I'm babysitting Pinocchio," Jim explained, "but I think that might just be a cover story for supervising the adolescent party. Marco had to go attend to some urgent business and called me to come over so that Emma wouldn't be 'stuck babysitting' a little boy at her slumber party. She was also really disappointed when she found out that you couldn't come, and so Marco requested that I pick you up on my way over."

"Marco? Pinocchio? Who are you talking about?"

"Wow, you really don't know your friend very well. See, Marco-(I get to call him Marco even though I'm only 18 because we're great friends but you should call him Mr. Woods)-adopted Emma, so she's his daughter. Although, she still calls him Marco, and it kind of bothers me, because that's our thing and I've known him way longer than she has and if she thinks that-"

"If I get in the car, will you stop talking?"

"Sorry, was I bothering you?"

Regina grabbed her bags and followed Archie/Jim out the door.

Henry sat in silence.

Regina ran back, opening the door long far enough to stick her head inside.

"Henry, you be a good boy." She commanded. "Don't open the door for any strangers. I will be back in the morning. If you get hungry, there's leftover spaghetti in the fridge. Finish your homework before you watch TV, and go to bed on time. I love you. Bye."

Henry smirked to himself as the door shut once more. And she thought she wasn't his mom. He pulled out his notebook and added Pinocchio and Geppetto to the list of people that he'd found. He needed to find out how to break the curse. If only he had his book.

The last thing he remembered was reading his book in his bed. He must have fallen asleep with it covering his chest, protecting him from the curse. (That was one of his theories for why the curse didn't affect his memory). When he woke up, he was without his book, in a different bed, in a different room, and 12 again. The age change wasn't as dramatic with him as it had been with everyone else. In fact, he hardly noticed it. It was a little disturbing to see his mother as a fifteen year old. It was even more disturbing that she couldn't remember being his mother.

Tonight he was going to find proof of the curse. Little things like their Dad's bed never having been slept in were dismissed quickly with silly excuses, but after tonight, Regina would have to believe him.

Henry emptied his schoolwork out of his backpack. He added in his notebook, a pencil, a flashlight, a screwdriver, a house key, his cell phone, and a red apple. Usually, he didn't like apples because of their negative uses in his family, but in this world, apples felt like a connection to his old life.

Henry waited a good 30 minutes after Regina left before getting on his bike, putting on his helmet, and departing.


	10. Anna/Regina

"I can't believe I'm going to a slumber party." Ann told her sister in the car. "This is like the first time in forever that I've been to one."

"I'm sure you'll have a great time." Elsa said.

"Do you think we'll sing karaoke? Or beat each other with pillows? Or really break the rules and ride bicycles _inside_ the house?"

"I don't think there's going to be enough room for that last one."

"We're here!" Anna exclaimed with delight, grabbing her bag. ""Bye Elsa!"

"Bye," Elsa called after Anna as she raced to the front door and rang the doorbell. No one answered. She rang it again, and a third time.

"Yes, yes, I hear you." Emma spoke as she opened the door. "Stop pressing that button."

"Emma!" Anna exclaimed as she embraced the birthday girl.

"Can't… breathe…" Emma gasped out.

"Oh, sorry. I'm just really excited to be here." Anna explained, releasing her.

"Hey Emma, where's the pool?" A girl in a bathing suit asked.

"We don't have a pool, Ariel." Emma told her.

"How you not have a pool? Everyone has a pool."

"Clearly that's not true. Just play in the bathtub or something."

"Ugh," Ariel scoffed. "Fine. But next time, I expect there to be a pool." She stormed off to the bathroom, either to take a bath or change back into regular clothes.

"Do you want a snack?" Emma asked Anna.

Anna nodded and followed Emma to the kitchen.

"Is that…chocolate?" Anna's eyes widened.

"Chocolate covered pretzels." Emma responded, for some reason not as energetically as Anna would have. The doorbell rang again and Emma left to answer it.

Anna couldn't see what was happening, but she could hear voices.

"What is _she_ doing here?" Ariel asked.

"I invited her." Emma responded. Anna heard the sound of little footsteps running down the stairs.

"Jim!" a little boy cried.

"Hey buddy," the older boy responded. "Why don't we go play in your room?"

"Yeah! Come on, I have to show you what I've been working on. It's really cool."

Anna walked out of the kitchen to see the boys go upstairs and the girls standing with some clear tension between them.

"Who wants to play a game?" Anna asked, hoping to relieve the tension.

"If we're going to play a game," another girl asked "could we do soon? Because I have to be home by midnight, and I want to have as much fun as I can before that."

"But it's a sleep over" Anna said. "As in _sleep_ _over_ at someone else's house. You can't just go home without sleeping over."

"My parents are kind of harsh about curfew." the girl explained. "It was difficult even to get them to agree with that."

As the night progressed, Anna did her best to learn everyone's names. She already knew Emma. There was Ariel who wanted to go swimming, Ella who had to leave early, Astrid who loved glitter almost as much as Anna loved chocolate, and Regina who was the only 10th grader and unliked by Ariel.

Also at the house, though not necessarily in attendance of Emma's slumber party, was a senior boy called Jim and Emma's adorable little brother Pinocchio, who had a stock of nerf weapons that made the night much more enjoyable, for Emma at least. Many of the others were shot down in battle. Not everyone got back up again.

In the midst of battle, Regina fired a bullet at Pinocchio and it hit his face. He started crying. The game came to a pause and Jim checked on the boy.

"It's just foam," Regina complained.

"Where does it hurt?" Jim asked. Pinocchio, still crying, pointed to the area of his face around right side of his left eye.

"It hit my eye."

"That's not your eye."

"It hit my eye," he repeated, moving his finger to point to his left eye.

"This is why I told you to wear your protective glasses."

"But those are annoying and they hurt my head." he complained.

Well if you're not going to wear the glasses, then you can't cry about getting hit with a bullet."

"I'm not crying."

"I think it's time for you to go to bed, kid."

"I don't wanna go to bed!"

Jim cocked his nerf gun and pointed it at the boy.

"I think it's time for you to go to bed, kid."

"Those are my toys. You don't get to play with them."

Eventually, Jim managed to get Pinocchio to bed, though he had to collect all of the weapons. Apparently he also had to read the kid a bedtime story.

Later that night, the girls were sitting on the floor of Emma's room, playing truth or dare. They had already played all two of the board games that they could find.

"Emma, truth or dare?" Astrid asked.

"Dare."

"I dare you to go outside and then come back into the room through the window."

"But this is the second story," Emma protested.

"That's what makes it challenging."

It took a lot of arguing, but eventually Emma was able to get bedsheets to use as rope and accomplished the dare with a surprising amount of upper body strength for a 14 year old girl.

"Regina, truth or dare?" Emma asked after she had successfully completed her dare..

"I'll go with truth," Regina responded. "Snow's not here, is she?"

"No. Why would it make a difference if Snow were here?"

"Snow can keep secrets about as well as a spaghetti strainer can hold water."

"What exactly happened between you two?"

"I'd rather not talk about it."

"No, that's your truth. You have to answer."

"No I don't."

Emma walked over to her door and opened it. Jim, who had apparently pressed himself up against the door, fell into the room.

"I wasn't listening," he started. "I just-"

"Save it Jim, I know when people are lying to me. Please tell Regina that she has to answer in truth or dare, since she picked truth."

"That is what the rules dictate, Regina."

"I'm not afraid of you, bug," Regina spat back. The insult made sense to her. Henry had called him a cricket. No one else got it.

"Look, how about this: You just tell Emma, since she asked the question and it's her birthday. The rest of us don't have to know your secrets."

"Fine," Regina conceded.

"Jim!" Pinocchio chimed as he entered the room in his pajamas. "Ooo!" He exclaimed. "Are we playing a game?"

"Bed!" Jim commanded as he led the small boy away.

* * *

Regina sat in a chair facing Emma. Her heart started beating faster. She could do this. She could tell Emma.

"It all started last year, when I was in 9th grade and Snow was in 11th grade. I made some apple turnover for a bake sale and Snow claimed that it gave her food poisoning-"

"No," Emma interrupted, more as a command than an observation.

"Excuse me?"

"You're lying. Tell me the truth. What happened?"

"Do you know what happened?"

"Snow told me some of it."

"And you're not satisfied with that?"

"I want to hear your side of the story."

"Well, it _did_ start last year. Snow found out something about me that she shouldn't have. I said before that Snow is terrible at keeping secrets. She didn't seem to appreciate my failed attempts at payback."

"Snow said that you nearly put David into a coma."

"As I said, _failed_ attempts at payback."

"But your vengeance seems a bit unwarranted for such a small offense that was probably accidental."

"Her offense may have seemed like a small accident to her, but the way people treated me wasn't an accident. It was horrible, rude words written on my locker, whispering and staring as I walked down the hallway… My friends avoided me, and everyone else… well… Of the few words spoken to me by other students, many were insults."

"Why? What exactly did Snow find out about you?"

"Why do you call your dad Marco?" Regina asked, trying to change the subject.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Emma asked

"You want to know all about my personal life. I see that it's only fair that you elaborate on your own. Why do you call your dad Marco?"

"He's not my dad." Emma insisted.

"He adopted you."

"That doesn't make him my dad. That doesn't make Pinocchio my brother."

"Does he call him Marco too?"

"No, he was adopted as a baby. He grew with Marco as his dad. I haven't even lived with them a whole year. He's _not_ my dad. He's just my…"

"guardian?" Regina suggested.

"Yeah. So, your secret?"

"In English, we were studying the romantic poets. You know, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, John Keats, William Blake, Lord Byron, William Wordsworth…"

"Yeah," Emma replied, prompting Regina to stop listing poets and get on with her story.

"And I wrote a love poem to someone that I liked, but just for me, just to practice writing. I never intended for anyone else to find out."

"And Snow…"

"The whole school found out about it. It wasn't just that I liked someone. I was a girl who liked another girl. I don't know why that was so upsetting to some people, but they just couldn't get over that. I've accepted it now, but at the time… When she moved away, I thought it would get better, but it didn't. I just lost the one friend who would still talk to me. At least she got away from it."

"And you believe that Snow's misery will alleviate your own? You think vengeance will make you happy?"

"Do you expect me to just smile and do nothing? She needs to pay for what she's done."

"Hasn't she already done so?"

"Does she look miserable? With her perfect boyfriend and her perfect reputation and her prefect grades and prefect everything. Everybody likes her. As I said, my attempts at vengeance have failed."

"Snow also said that the only thing you care about is vengeance. Is that true?"

Regina didn't answer.

"But why go after David?"

"He's the other half of Snow's heart. There are more than just physical ways to make people suffer."

"Were you ever going to hurt me?"

"No," Regina said, almost too suddenly.

Emma raised an eyebrow, as if the lie detector in her head had gone off.

"Well, maybe at first," Regina consented, "but not anymore." Emma's eyebrow moved back to its original position and Emma smiled.

"So Snow was wrong."

Regina couldn't sleep. The floor was too hard. Henry had said that she was a queen in this other life of hers, probably because her name meant queen.

Emma seemed to be sleeping soundly, in her bed, which was only being half used. Regina laid down on the edge of Emma's bed, careful not to disturb the sleeping girl. She was far enough away that she wasn't touching Emma. Soon, she fell asleep.

In her nearly conscious state, Regina could recall getting elbowed in the back, kicked in the calf, and pushed out of the bed onto the floor.

"Anything," Lizard said as she sat bolt upright as Regina hit the floor with a thud.

Regina moaned as she started to get up. Lizard looked at her cautiously.

"What's going on?" Lizard asked.

"I was attacked in my sleep by Emma, who apparently is some sort of sleeping warrior."

Lizard looked over at Emma, who was still sound asleep, and smiled.

"I just had the strangest dream. I think I was dying. And… and there was this boy, who was also a playing card, and he lived in a bottle."

"Why would a playing card live in a bottle?"

"I think he was…" Lizard's face expressed a look of confusion. "That's funny, now I can't remember."

"Dreams are like that."


	11. Lizard/Regina's Phone

"Why can't there be a king of swans?" Lizard asked Wendy as they were eating lunch.

"Swans don't have a monarchy," Wendy explained. "Even if they did, they would likely have a female ruler, like bee queen, the ant queen, the swan queen…"

"What about Lion King? Are you saying that swans are more like insects than mammals?

"They're birds, like geese socialists"

"Socialists can have dictators."

"But not monarchies. There's a difference."

"Then why do communist ants have a queen?"

"Do either of you have any food left?" asked a hungry Baelfire, interrupting their conversation.

"No" Lizard replied.

"Just the bread crust of my sandwich" Wendy told him.

"I'll take it." Wendy opened her sandwich container and offered Baelfire the crust. "Thanks, Wendy."

"Wait, Bae, can you help us settle an argument?" she asked.

"Sure."

"Am I right?" Wendy asked.

"Of course." Baelfire replied, completely confident in his answer.

"See," Wendy told Lizard "There is no King of Swans."

"He doesn't even know what we're talking about." Lizard argued.

"He doesn't need to know what we're talking about to know that I'm right."

"Nowhere to run now, Knave," the older boy gloated as he grabbed the younger boy by the jacket and held him close so he couldn't escape. He raised his fist and brought it down on the younger boy's cheek, making marks on his skin that would later bruise.

"I told you I don't have them." The younger boy protested desperately as the older boy beat him again.

"Stop!" Lizard yelled.

"Stay out of this, freshman," the older boy insisted, turning to face her. "This doesn't concern you."

In the moment of distraction, the younger boy was able to slip out of his jacket and escape. The older boy glared angrily at Lizard before pursuing, throwing the jacket down on the ground.

Wendy brought the situation to the attention of a teacher, and soon the brawl was halted. Lizard picked up the jacket to return it to the younger boy. A pack of cards fell out and scattered across the ground.

"Really?" Lizard asked nobody in particular. She tried to pick up the cards, but the wind started blowing.

The younger boy came over to where Lizard was futilely trying to collect the cards. Wendy chased after one that started flying away.

"Sorry," she told him. "I shouldn't have picked it up."

"It's alright," He promised. "It was never a complete deck anyway. Thanks for, you know…"

"Helping you?"

"Right."

"What did that guy want anyway?"

"To beat the blood out of me," he replied, grabbing the King of Diamonds.

"No, I mean, you said something about not having 'them.' What did he want from you?"

"Just some things I pinched."

Lizard picked up the Jack of Hearts and held it between her fingers, studying it. She didn't know why she was stared at it for so long. Something about the nose and eyebrow of the card's profile looked familiar.

"Are you okay?" he asked. She looked up.

"Yeah." He turned back to picking up the cards on the ground, and she caught a glimpse of his profile. She laughed.

"What?" he asked.

"The Jack of Hearts looks like you."

"I don't have two heads," he protested.

* * *

Regina's Phone on Saturday, October 24th:

"Dad, it's Regina. I usually wouldn't call you at work, but this is important. Henry's gone. His bike is missing and I don't know where he is. I don't know what to do. Call me back. Please."

_message to Dad_

.

"Henry, you were supposed to stay home." There was a pause. "No, I'm not mad, but I need to know where you are. I need to know that you're okay. Call me back."

_message to Henry_

.

"This isn't a joke. Henry, your son, my brother, has vanished. He's out there, all alone, and I'm really worried that he's in danger. He's not answering my calls either. Look, I get that you're busy, but HENRY IS GONE. Even if you can't come home right now, at least call me. Tell me what I'm supposed to do, Daddy. I don't know."

_message to Dad_

.

"Our brother's missing, Cora. I can't find Henry. I'm not kidding, this is serious. Dad's not answering. Henry's not answering. I know you're busy with college stuff, but our brother is missing. He's only twelve and he's all alone out there. He's probably in trouble. I need you to call me back."

_message to Cora_

.

"HENRY IS MISSING. I NEED YOUR HELP. I just thought that I should say that first in case that's the only part of the message that you listen to before deleting it."

_message to Dad_

.

"I'm starting to think that either you never turn on your phone or you just don't care about us. Maybe Henry was right. Maybe you are dead. Maybe that's why you never answer."

_message to Dad_

.

"Regina?" Emma asked. "What's wrong? You sound like you've been crying."

"Henry's gone."

"What?"

"His bike is gone and no one's answering their phones. How long am I supposed to wait before calling 911?"

"Maybe he just went to a friend's house or something."

"No, I've called the Zimmers and the Kingsleys. He's not there. Plus, he would have left me some kind of note, and since he didn't, it's because he thought he would be back before I got home. I'm worried that he's in trouble."

"I'll be right over."

_call to Emma_

.

"I would like to report a missing child. He's twelve years old, Caucasian, with straight brown hair, and hazel brown eyes. I last saw last night around 6 or 7. He was at home, and he was wearing a red shirt with a blue plaid pattern and jeans. He might also be wearing his red and gray striped scarf. His bike's missing. He didn't leave a note or anything. This isn't like him."


	12. Alice

"Alice Kingsley," Cyrus began, pulling out a paper and reading from it. "Will you accompany me-"

"Of course I'll go to the dance with you."

"But I had a speech planned. It was charming and eloquent. All the ethos and pathos and logos from English class, it was all there. I worked hard on it."

"You don't need to do that, Cyrus. You already knew I was going to say yes."

"At least let me show you this. This was the best part. He pulled out a necklace. It had a brown leather cord and a red pendant shaped like a teardrop."

"It's beautiful."

"Legend has it that it will glow whenever your true love is near."

"Does it really do that?"

"Do you want to find out?" He put the necklace around her neck. It did not glow.

"Well it's still very pretty," Alice assured him.

"Let me try something." He leaned in and kissed her briefly. His eyes were still closed when she pulled away. Alice looked down at her necklace, still clutched between Cyrus's fingers. It was glowing.

"Cyrus!" she cried. "It worked." He grinned and chuckled to himself.

"I couldn't resist," he explained, opening his hand to reveal a remote. He switched the light off. "I've never met a girl quite like you, Alice. I'm glad you're going with me to prom next year."

"You never asked me to prom." Alice said, confused.

"You're going to ask me to prom. You're going to write out an eloquent speech proclaiming your love for me, and I'm going to interrupt it."

"So I only have to write the beginning?"

"No, you have to write out all of it. Later I'll be checking your grammar too, and your punctuation, and your MLA formatting, and your-"

She cut him off with a kiss. This one lasted much longer than the last.

"Yuck!" Jefferson exclaimed, interrupting them. Alice pulled away.

"Yes brother?" she asked. He had just walked back from the lunch line and had set his lunch tray on the table, about to sit down.

"I'm trying to eat my lunch." Jefferson told her, sitting down and opening his juice.

"Can I have a bite of your sandwich?" She asked.

"No. You have Cyrus germs in your mouth, and I won't allow any Cyrus germs on my sandwich."

"I'm sitting right here," Cyrus told him, somewhat offended.

"You don't have a problem with my germs on your sandwich," Alice pointed out.

"We're twins. Plus you're a girl, so it's not as weird." Jefferson explained.

"Fine then, if you won't let me have a bite of your sandwich, then I guess there's nothing stopping me from infecting my mouth with more Cyrus germs." She kissed him again.

"Seriously, guys, stop. I can't watch this."

Cyrus pulled back.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Cyrus said. "Are you going to kiss her? Or will you leave that job to me?"

"You guys suck," he told them as he grabbed his lunch tray and started to walk away.

"Jefferson!" Alice called after him.

"No, I'm leaving."


	13. Emma

"Snow!" Emma yelled, banging on the door of her friend's house. It wasn't that early, but it was still a Saturday morning. Luckily, Snow was one of those people that didn't sleep until one in the afternoon.

"Yes Emma?" she asked opening the door, still dressed in her pajamas.

"Henry's missing."

"Henry?" Snow asked.

"Regina's brother. The one that showed up in art class and made me kiss his forehead. I'm pretty sure I told you about that."

"Oh, right, him. What do you mean he's missing?"

"I mean no one knows where he is. Start your car. We need to help Regina find him."

Snow seemed a bit hesitant. Her fear of Regina was getting quite annoying.

"But what if it's a trap?"

"Snow. A child is missing. I may not be the mother he thinks I am, but that doesn't mean that I'm going to abandon him. Now are you coming or do I need to find another ride?"

Snow sighed and grabbed her keys and her phone, not bothering to get dressed.

.

Regina didn't even bother to cast an angry glance at Snow. Her entire demeanor had been broken. The once sarcastic and intrepid rani had been reduced to a nervous havoc.

Regina's eyes were fixed on the window. She hardly spoke. Every so often, her eyes would well up with tears which she would wipe away with her right sleeve and pretend that nothing had happened.

Regina's fingernails pinched at the skin on her bottom lip, tearing small bits of skin off. Whether Regina didn't notice or just didn't care, Emma was unsure.

When she drew blood, Regina didn't yelp in pain or say anything. She just ran her tongue over her lower lip and continued to stare out the window.

Regina was dropped off at the high school to look around, while Emma was dropped off at the middle school Henry attended. Snow continued to drive around in her car to search for Henry.

.

"Emma," came Regina's voice from her phone.

"Yeah?" Emma asked. "Did you find him?"

"No, but I found his backpack on the ground by the side of the school. He was probably here last night."

"How was it standing?"

"What?"

"The backpack. Was it straight up or on its back, like he had set it down? Or was it face down or on its side, like he had thrown it down?"

"I guess the second one."

"What's in the backpack?"

"Just some of his notes, his house key, a… screwdriver? Oh, and his cell phone, with missed messages from me."

"Notes?"

"Yeah, he has this notebook where he writes all his theories."

"Theories?"

"About us in other lives. Like how I'm his mom and…" she paused, flipping through the pages. "Your brother is a wooden puppet, but then he became a biker with a leather jacket."

"Is that all that's in the backpack?" Emma asked, deciding to ignore Pinocchio's alternate personas.

"I think so."

"Are you sure? Check the smaller pockets."

"There's a pencil."

"Are his notes written in pencil?"

"Some of them."

"The most recent ones?"

"Looks like it."

"What do they say?"

Regina didn't answer.

"Regina?"

"Who's our principal?"

"You know, that guy. Actually, I don't know. I guess it's not really important."

Emma continued to look around. She checked another door. Still locked. This was getting annoying. She pulled out a hair pin and tried to pick the lock.

"What are you doing?" the boy asked her.

Emma nearly dropped the phone.

"Henry?" she asked.

"Henry?!" Regina nearly screamed. "Did you find him?"

"Do I know you?" the boy asked.

"Yeah," Emma said into the phone.

"Are you sure?" The boy asked, thinking Emma had responded to his question. "Where have we met before?"

"Is he there right now?" Regina asked. "Let me talk to him," she demanded.

"It's for you." Emma told Henry, handing him the phone. He looked a bit skeptical, but accepted it.

"Hello?" he asked into the phone.

Emma couldn't hear Regina's response, but she could see Henry's face light up at the sound of his sister's voice.

"Regina? Where are you?"

He stayed quiet for a while, listening to her response.

"Yeah, I'm really sorry about that. I know. Yeah, you're right."

More silence.

"Okay, I will." He hung up the phone.

"Are you Emma?" he asked Emma.

"Yeah."

"Regina wants you to call Snowflakes." He handed the phone back to her. "Does that mean anything to you?"

"Yeah, she's going to take us home."

.

"Thanks for helping my sister find me." Henry told Emma as Snow's car pulled up.

"Hey, what are mother's for?"

"Mothers?"

"You know, because you called me your mom in art class."

"Aren't you a high schooler? What would you be doing in my art class?"

"No, you came into my art class to make my kiss your forehead to break some kind of curse."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Henry climbed seemed a bit hesitant to enter a stranger's car, but when he saw Regina in the passenger's seat, he quickly climbed in.


	14. Regina/Wendy

Regina stood in the cafeteria wearing a silky black dress, surrounded by a crowd of adolescents in somewhat formal clothing as loud music played. Emma emerged from the crowd and began talking to Regina, who had some questions for Emma.

"Did you ever meet Henry, I mean before the first day of school?" Regina asked Emma.

"No, I just moved here over the summer. You know that."

"But he knew your name."

"Maybe Snow told him, or he saw it on the school records."

"They would have both said Emily. He called you Emma."

"It's probably not important."

"But what if it is?"

"You don't actually believe him, about the curse?"

"Well there's something going on. He was obsessed with this curse thing. Why would he just suddenly give that up?"

"Maybe it's for the best, Regina." Emma paused, running her hands over her white dress. Glitter clung to her fingers. It was unlike Emma to be surrounded by so much glitter and she was making a mess of it. She left sparkles on everything she touched. Her nose, her hair, her ear, her shoes…

"It just doesn't feel normal," Regina tried to explain. Henry was Regina's best friend, and she loved him. Sure he acted strange sometimes, but that was part of what made him unique. What made him Henry. And now that was gone, like someone had messed with his brain, altering his memories and personality.

"Hey," Emma got and excited look in her eyes. "Do you want to play a prank on Snow and David? It might help get your mind off of things."

"What?" Regina asked suspiciously. Emma smiled.

"It's probably better that you don't know, not yet at least."

"What do I have to do?" Regina asked, giving in with a sigh.

"Just wait here and follow me when I come and get you." Emma promised. "Try and keep a straight face."

Emma disappeared back into the crowd. Regina waited awkwardly behind. She studied the light reflection of the trail of glitter that Emma left.

When Emma returned, Regina followed her to a less crowded pocket of the room where David and Snow stood, looking somewhat nervous with closed eyes.

"Okay," Emma told her parents. "Open your eyes."

Snow smiled as she opened her eyes, eagerly looking around, but soon her face froze as her eyes fell on Regina. David just looked confused and nonplussed.

"Emma," he started slowly. "What's going on?"

Snow was now just horrified. Regina held her breath and tried to keep from laughing.

"I'm going to go get a float," Regina stated, excusing herself and walking towards the snack table.

* * *

Wendy watched the door, hoping Peter would show up to the dance. She was wearing a light blue dress that matched her eyes and the bow in her hair.

"He's not coming, Wendy," a voice spoke from behind her.

"What?" she asked, turning to face Baelfire.

"Peter," he explained. "You know he's not into this kind of stuff. It's too grown up for him."

Wendy pursed her lips together in a slight smile.

"I thought he would at least show up if I asked him to dance with me," Wendy admitted.

"You asked him to the dance?"

She nodded.

"Oh, Wendy," he breathed.

"What's wrong with me Bae?"

"Nothing."

"No, really."

"Wendy," Baelfire spoke, looking directly into her eyes. "There is **nothing** wrong with you."

"But Peter-"

"Peter's a fool." He interrupted.

"He's not a fool. He skipped a grade and he's pretty smart."

"Knowledge and wisdom aren't the same thing, Wendy. He could memorize all the elements of the periodic table, but that wouldn't make him any less of a fool. His insistence on not growing up doesn't leave much room for wisdom."

"I don't think anyone wants to grow up."

"But Peter dreads it. You know how he hates being around people younger than him. You know how he always gets a bit sad around the time of his birthday, because that's one more year, Wendy. One more year drained from his childhood like sand in an hourglass. And so he fights against it. He's always reminding people how he's younger and better. He's always so childish and self-absorbed because he can't move on from a time when he was the only person in the world who mattered. Admitting that he had feelings for you, or anyone for that matter, would not only damage his arrogance, but would also be to admit defeat in his war against time."

"When did you get to be so wise?"

"That's the thing." He leaned close to whisper into her ear. "I grew up." He pulled back and reached out his hand towards her. "Now my Darling Wendy, would you like to dance with me?"

She took his hand and he led her away from the wall towards the center of the room. She was surprised that he knew how to dance like a proper gentleman.

"Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to live in Peter's world," Wendy said softly, her head resting on Baelfire's shoulder as they danced slowly. "Where you don't have to worry about the responsibilities of growing up."

"Why should'st thou remain the only constant in a world of change?" Baelfire quoted. Wendy just stared at him confused, so he continued. "Wendy, just because you ignore your responsibilities doesn't mean they don't exist. Besides, maturation is not just about new responsibilities; it's about growing from your mistakes and learning to care for others, working against ignorance and arrogance. But there's nothing wrong with acting childish, so long as you still take care of your responsibilities and remember who you really are."


	15. Jane

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This chapter takes place somewhat simultaneously with the last chapter, so be aware of that.

Jane stood in the cafeteria ballroom, watching the others.

"No," Snow replied to David. "Your brother has a date."

"Phillip has a girlfriend, but Thomas,"

"Has a date," Snow finished.

"Oh," David responded. "Well what about-"

"I really don't need you guys to-" Emma interrupted.

"Finding you a date is our pleasure, Emily," Snow interrupted.

"Emma," Emma corrected.

"It's our pleasure, Emma," Snow continued. "Don't you worry about a thing."

"Hey, what about that guy from art class?" David asked.

"Guyliner?" Emma asked, skeptically.

"His name is Killian." David corrected.

"No," Snow said. "He's not the right one for Emma."

"But he likes her." David pointed out.

"He flirts with all the girls." Snow said, disapprovingly. "And some boys." Snow added, making David blush and become very interested in the floor.

"Look," Emma said. "It's not that I don't… appreciate what you guys doing, but I can take care of myself… I actually already have a date."

"Really?" Snow squealed. "Is it the boy from your math class?

Emma shook her head.

"Then who is he?" Snow asked impatiently.

"Close your eyes," Emma commanded before slipping away.

"Jane!" Draco called, snapping his fingers. She rushed to her date's side. "What have I told you about wandering off?"

"Well, you never really-" Jane started.

"Rhetorical question, Jane."

She nodded silently. Seen but not heard, that was how he liked her. It wasn't that bad. She usually didn't talk much anyway.

In the shadows of night, his features became even more attractive and she reminded herself how lucky she was to have him. At times, he was rude, but he could also be charming.

Jane watched Emma talk to her friend and saw the two of them go back over to Snow White and David Prince.

Draco snapped his fingers again.

"Jane, why are you not paying attention to your date?"

She said nothing.

"Jane!" He demanded. Evidently this was not a rhetorical question.

"I-I'm sorry" Jane stuttered.

"You should learn to be more respectful. You should consider yourself lucky to be with such a fine man."

"Yes, Draco." She conceded. He was the only boy who paid the slightest attention to her. She was lucky that he liked her.

"At least you can say my name properly."

Regina sipped from her float. She scooped up some ice-cream and licked it off her spoon, making an odd face as she covered the spoon with her mouth. Draco started towards her. Jane followed her date, knowing that it was best to just go along with what he says.

"Well, if it isn't the school queer?" Draco said, like a super villain announcing his entrance.

"Why don't you slither back to Hogwarts, Malfoy?" Regina spat.

"Oh, how clever." He pretended to be impressed. "Isn't she such a clever girl?"

He looked at Jane. Jane wasn't sure if that was a rhetorical question, so she smiled politely and said nothing.

"You know," Draco continued, "you'd think someone as clever as you would start giving up your delusions just like your psychotic brother did."

Regina's hand tightened around her cup at the mention of her brother. She set the cup down before the plastic broke in her hands and took a deep breath.

"To what delusions are you referring?" Regina asked.

"Your belief that another girl could actually love you. It's quite pitiful. Maybe once you start acting normal, I'd even take you to a dance myself." He brought his face closer to Regina's as he studied her brown eyes. His proximity to her made Jane feel uncomfortable. "Once all the other girls drop dead, of course."

His cruel laughter cut through the air, only interrupted by Regina's fist flying into his face.

"Teacher!" He screamed.

"What's going on here?" Mrs. Lucas asked.

"She hit me. Look, look." He brought his fingers to his nose and held them out for examination. "I'm bleeding."

She squinted at Draco's fingertips, evidently not seeing anything.

"No, here, look." He placed the tips of each of his forefingers inside his nostrils and pulled them out again, this time examining them with his own eyes. Confident that he had better evidence, he held up his fingers to her eyes for examination. "See?"

Mrs. Lucas leaned her head back, away from the boy's snotty and slightly bloody fingers.

"Jane, did you see what happened?" Mrs. Lucas asked.

"I… uh…" Jane vocalized. She hated being put on the spot.

Jane looked at Draco's commanding eyes, telling her what to say and how to act, as always. Regina looked dismayed by the teacher's choice of witness. They both expected her to take Draco's side. They knew she was his puppet.

"Can I plead the fifth on this one?" Jane asked.

"What?" Mrs. Lucas asked

"The fifth amendment to the Constitution," Jane explained, feeling more confident discussing historical facts. "You know, 'no person shall be held to answer for a capital, or otherwise infamous crime…' It's part of the Bill of Rights."

"Jane, this is not a court room."

"Yeah," Jane agreed before darting away. Draco chased after her. When she stopped running, he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"She attacked Draco unprovoked" he said, referring to himself in the third person and waiting for her to repeat it. Jane said nothing.

The nails of his index and middle fingers dug into her neck like the fangs of a beast.

"She attacked Draco unprovoked," he said again, this time outright commanding her to do the same.

"She attacked Draco unprovoked," Jane repeated.

"…and her violent actions deserve to be punished," Jane finished telling Mrs. Lucas, her hand feeling the back of her neck. There were indentations in her skin, but no blood.

Even so, she could still feel the fangs of Dracula sucking her blood and filling her with venom like a mosquito, slowly turning her into the monster he was.


	16. Robin

Robin hated detention.

It was the third worst place to be, behind awkward family reunions where you can't remember anyone's names and your father's cousin is just filling the air with tobacco fumes while your own fourth or fifth cousins are all cliquey won't speak to you, and department stores where you and you mother can never agree on what clothes you can wear and the shoes that are comfortable on your feet either aren't fancy enough or are too obnoxious.

In detention, they wouldn't let you talk or use technology or laugh at nothing to try and ease the awkward silence. They didn't approve of silly faces or sharpening pencils with a pocket knife or kissing your imaginary girlfriend. The only thing they didn't veto was sleeping (granted that you stayed in your seat). Robin mostly just watched people.

There were four other people in the room. One was a teacher. One was a ruffian. One was Robin's best friend John, asleep and drooling all over his desk. The last was a girl with dark hair.

The girl was hard at work trying to erase the spot on her forearm where someone had branded her as queer in what appeared to be permanent marker.

"I am going to destroy him if it's the last thing I do," she muttered to herself, spitting on her arm and trying to scrub it off, to little success.

"Do you have a marker?" she whispered to Robin, her brown eyes fixed not on Robin, but on the teacher who was reading a book.

Robin handed her a marker, a bit unsure why the girl would want to put more ink on herself.

The girl uncapped the marker and drew a line extending down from the letter 'r,' changing it to an 'n.' The self-proclaimed queen smirked in satisfaction as she recapped the marker and handed it back to Robin.

"That's really clever," Robin told her in a whisper. The girl stared back suspiciously, as if trying to detect sarcasm. Finally she decided Robin was being sincere.

"If it's going to be there for a while, it might as well say something I want to be called."

"Then that's really clever, your majesty."

"No talking!" The teacher snapped at them before returning to her book. The children hung their heads, stealing glances, making silly faces, and trying not to let out a single sound of laughter as they waited in prison, stealthy tongues trying to touch noses and sparkling eyes bringing light to the dismal cage.

"Is that a good book?" Robin asked after they had been released and were free to talk.

"It's more than just a book." The girl assured her. "It's my brother's notebook. He writes all these things about people, about us."

"Us?"

"The students here. The teachers. Everyone. Like… what's your name?"

"Robin Hood." Robin replied.

"Okay, Robin Hood, Robin Hood," the girl muttered as she scanned the pages looking for an entry. "Here it is."

"What does it say about me?"

"You're…" the girl's cheeks turned red.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"The quality of nothing hath not such need to hide itself." Robin replied, snatching the book away. "Robin Hood, formerly Robin of Loxley, a thief with a heart of gold who steals from the rich and gives to the poor. How sweet. Let's see… Oh, apparently I'm a man and in some versions a fox, but I have an entourage of merry men, including my best friend Little John and my son Roland. Wait, that's my brother's name. He's not even old enough to go to this school. How did your brother know about him?"

"There's lots of strange things in that book. My brother used to say that we were all from another world and this is just a record of that. He fancied himself an author. Honestly, he has an overactive imagination and it's mostly just fiction."

"Widowed by the death of his wife and Roland's mother Maid Marian. Aww that's sad. My wife died. No, wait, she was murdered by Zelena, the wicked witch of the west and half-sister of my second true love, Regina. Wait, who's Regina?"

The girl slowly raised her hand.

"Your majesty, I appreciate your interest, but you are a creepy stalker."

"I did not write that!" Regina protested. "I didn't even know you before today."

"Fine, then your brother is a creepy stalker."

"Don't take it personally. He does that for everyone."

"Yeah," Robin agreed, flipping through pages. "But if you wanted to ask me out, you didn't have to go to this much trouble."

"I am not trying to ask you out!"

"But your majesty, we're soulmates. The book says so."

"Are you making fun of me?"

"No," Robin said, nodding her head yes.

Regina held out a hand, demanding her book back, but Robin simply took hold of her soft hand and kissed the back of it, like a proper gentleman.

"My lady," Robin said as a farewell before returning her book and rejoining John, who was watching them suspiciously.

"What was that?" John demanded.

"What was what?" Robin asked.

"That girl!"

"First of all, a girl is a who, no a what. That's either improper grammar or just plain rude. Second of all, her name is Regina. What else would you like to know?"

"Why were you kissing her hand?" Robin shrugged.

"No one else was," she replied

"What does that mean?"

"My Dear John," Robin said in an English accent. "Can you use your little brain for nothing?"

"Hey!"

"Hay is for horses, and you're a bear."

"A bear?"

"I'm a fox and you're a bear, but we're still best friends."

"Oh good. I'm glad we don't eat each other or anything."

"Yeah, except I'm a man."

"You do smell like one." John said.

"Hey!"

"Foxes don't eat hay, Dear Robin."

"No, you don't get it. Dear John is a type of letter. It was a pun. Dear Robin doesn't mean anything."

"Unless you are a deer and your name is Robin, and then you're a deer Robin."

"I'm not a deer."

"Or are you? Maybe at this moment, you actually are a deer."

"I think I would know if I were a deer, John. See, that's how it's-"

"Unless you're a mentally unstable deer who thinks she's a human."

Robin slammed a palm into her forehead, wondering why she couldn't just have normal friends. You know, people who don't have a burning desire to climb on top of the roof of the school building. But they say that while a good friend is willing to bail you out of jail, a best friend is locked up right beside you. And Robin was nothing if not loyal. And she couldn't deny that a small part of her enjoyed the thrill of danger, that spike of adrenaline when your heart is beating in your ears.


	17. Wendy/Robin

Michael jumped onto John's bed, plastic sword in hand. Their weapons clanged as Wendy texted her friend Ella from the safety of her own bed.

**Ella, are you coming to my birthday party? Laser tag.**

_Y do U txt like that?_

**Why don't you?**

_:P_

**So laser tag. Yay? Nay?**

_May_

**?**

Wendy heard a thud and looked up from her phone to see Michael crying on the floor where he had fallen from the bed and John pouting at him.

Then Nana rushed into the room.

"Are you all right, Darling?" Nana asked, well aware of the old pun that Wendy believed was so old that it should no longer be funny. Nana was like that all the time, and they loved her for that.

"John pushed me," Michael complained between sobs.

"I did not!" John protested. "Michael's just-"

"Enough!" Nana cried, stopping both of them as they tried to talk over each other, each voicing their own complaints. "Where does it hurt?" she asked Michael. He pointed to his right shoulder. She rolled up his sleeve to examine it. It looked fine to Wendy. There wasn't any blood or anything. But Nana still picked him up and carried him out of the room to an ice pack.

"He's just a crybaby," John told Wendy.

"He's only 6," Wendy pointed out.

"Exactly. He's in first grade now. He's not the little baby that thought you were his mother."

"Did you push him?" Wendy asked.

"I never touched him!"

"That's not what I asked."

"Okay… maybe my sword did make contact with him," John acknowledged. "But that's the whole point of the game and he was the one who wanted to play. I mean, if you can't handle getting hit, you shouldn't start a sword fight. And this wasn't even with real swords. Right?"

Wendy nodded, hoping to satisfy John. It worked. He made his way over to some comic books in his drawer and Wendy's eyes found their way back to the screen of her phone.

_May=Maybe_

_Check it out!_

This must be important, Wendy thought. Ella used punctuation. She unlocked her phone and checked out the picture. It was just shoes.

**I don't see what the big deal is. There's just shoes.**

_Just look at thm_

**I did. And?**

_1 day Wendy Ull grw up and thn Ull understand the importance of proper footwear_

**I doubt it. High heels are gross.**

_UR such a boy._

Wendy sighed. People were always calling her a tomboy and she hated that. She wasn't acting like a boy, whether his name be Tom or otherwise. She was just being herself, having fun, and being honest about her opinions. If some boys acted in similar ways, climbing trees and playing laser tag, who's to say that they weren't acting like a girl? As she was a girl and they were acting in similar ways. Who exactly gets to define how boys should act and how girls should act?

Wendy was interrupted from her thoughts by her ringing phone. She checked the caller ID. Peter.

"Hello?" she asked. "Peter?"

"You are a great huge ugly girl"

"What?" she asked in response to the noise on the other end of the phone which, to her, sounded like gibberish.

"No, stop!" she heard Peter yell. "Tink, give me back my phone!"

"As if you horrid beastly" more gibberish came from the phone, but it was more distant this time. She decided that it was probably a language which she was not familiar with.

"Wendy, hi." Peter said. "Sorry about that. Tink can be a little aggressive at times, but she means well. Don't take any of that to heart."

"I couldn't understand any of that. It didn't sound like English."

"It wasn't."

"What was she saying?"

"That's not important."

"Peter," Wendy pressed.

"She's not very polite. I don't think you want to know."

"Come on!" Wendy complained. "You can't just say that and then not tell me."

Peter hung up.

* * *

Robin sat on her couch, reading Henry's book. It was all terribly interesting, even as a book of fiction. She quite enjoyed the bit about her cousin Ruby being a werewolf.

She was just learning about fairies being so small that they only have room for one feeling at a time when the home phone rang. Robin answered it.

"Please tell me that you have Henry's notebook." Regina's worried voice came from it. She must have looked up the number in the school directory.

"Fear not, milady. It is safe and sound in my arms." Robin assured.

Regina breathed a sigh of relief before exclaiming, "I hate you."

"That's unfortunate."

"That book is very important to me. I don't appreciate you taking it."

"Fine. I'm sorry. It's just so interesting. You're not going to rip out my heart or anything, are you?"

"I'm being serious, Robin."

"Your majesty," Robin began, but as shrill squeal interrupted her. "I'll call you back," she added hastily before hanging up the phone.

The noise seemed to have come from Roland's room. Robin checked her brother's room to find him sitting on the floor, his face expressionless.

"Roland?" she asked.

He looked at her expectantly, wondering why she had entered his room.

"You okay?" she asked.

He blinked and frowned.

"Hey, where did you get that?" Robin asked, reaching for a teddy bear neatly placed on Roland's bed. She had never seen it before. Roland snatched the stuffed animal away before Robin could touch it.

"Mine," Roland said, clutching it to his chest. He whispered softly into its ear, but Robin couldn't make out any words. At least words in any language Robin recognized.

And maybe Roland was just playing, but sometimes he really scared her.

And maybe it was just paranoia, but sometimes his shadow seemed to flicker out of synchronization with him.


	18. Reul/Regina

Reul Ghorm walked along the sidewalk, checking up on the local residences. There was an excessive amount of snow on the ground, and as a result, school had been cancelled that day. Most took the opportunity to finish their homework or watch a movie inside, but the lost boys were in the midst of snow warfare.

She watched their leader dodge a snowball with the swift reflexes he possessed despite his lack of magic.

He seemed so carefree, so cunning, so happy. He seemed so much like the human he had once been, the charming manchild she had broken her vows for all those years ago, much less like the drunken oaf who had woken up with his memory erased and a baby in his arms.

She gritted her teeth as they called him Peter. Malcolm, she wanted to yell. His name is Malcolm.

She looked down at her feet which had stopped moving. Even in this world, she could not bring herself to go near him, though she knew he would not recognize her. In this world or any other.

Suddenly all the noise stopped. She turned back to the boys, but they were still running and jumping and yelling. She just couldn't hear them. There must be a sound bubble. Reul Ghorm turned around to face the man who had created it.

"Brother dear," she began, sarcasm dripping from her feigned pleasantries. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I need your help," he admitted with some hesitation. She was taken aback by his avowal, so unlike his ordinary conceited and prideful boasts.

"The great and mighty Emrys requires the assistance of a nun?"

"Of an ancient being that rules the night, the original power."

"Your flattery earns you no reward. Do try not to confuse legend with reality." She tried to walk away, to dissolve his sound bubble and leave this conversation, but his hand stopped her shoulder.

"We both know that's not true," he whispered, leaning close enough that she could feel his breath, though there was no need. He could shout and no one would hear him. She flinched away from his touch.

"What do you want?" She demanded, glaring at him, "help with the weather?"

"Hardly," he dismissed her suggestion with a wave of his hand. "My problems are a bit more dramatic than a few snowflakes."

"What exactly is your problem?" she asked, preferring to be direct.

"The boy," he explained "I fear he may have caused more trouble than we anticipated."

"What do you mean?" She became concerned. "I erased every thought of the old lands from his mind."

"Perhaps you did," he consented. "But that boy was so firmly rooted in his beliefs that he planted seeds in the minds around him, seeds watered by his sudden change in demeanor, seeds beginning to sprout into suspicion and paranoia."

She could have vocalized the extent of his error by reminding him of his own fault in not working his magic on the boy properly the first time, but it would do no good. He leaned close to her again, and she nearly shivered from his disagreeable proximity. Her uncomfort was not, as one might assume, the result of her being a nun and his being a man. Rather it was her own distaste for human proximity and that of men in particular that drove her to establish herself as mother superior.

This was yet another reason why she refused to allow herself to venture near Malcolm. Because though he could not remember her, she feared that she might remember how warm and inviting his touch was. Her brother's breath in her ear reminded her that he was speaking.

"And I don't believe I need to remind you how unpleasant it would be for the both of us if those saplings continue to grow," he said before walking away and dissolving the sound bubble. She could hear the children's laughter once more.

* * *

Regina could smell pancakes. She groggily opened her eyes that Sunday morning in confusion. Then panic set in.

Henry doesn't know how to use a stove! He could get severely burned! He could burn our house down!

She practically fell out of bed, still in her pajamas, and raced down the stairs to the kitchen, jumping the last three or four steps.

But it wasn't Henry she found at the stove.

Well, in a way, it was Henry Mills. Just not the one she was expecting.

"Wow," her father said in the way that dads laugh when they think their jokes are funny, "someone's excited for pancakes."


	19. Peter/Baelfire

Peter studied his crew. There were six of them, not counting Wendy or himself.

Jack Frost's albino skin and hair blended in with the snow nicely as he cautiously poked his head **slightly** above the snow mound he was hiding behind. He wore a blue hoodie, but ignored his mother's suggestions of wearing a hat or gloves to protect him from the cold. He also refused to put his hood over his head, and as a result allowed snow to fall directly in his hair. As he scanned the surroundings, he resembled an arctic **fox**.

Jafar Iago crouched next to Jack, making snowballs with gloved hands. Unlike his pale friend, Jafar wore a hat. And gloves. And a scarf. And warm boots. And a brown fluffy coat that made him appear more pudgy and **bear** like than usual. Unlike Jack, the cold did bother him. Quite a bit. Jafar's **curly** hair was as black as the night sky and his skin as dark as the caramel syrup on an icecream cone. Physically, he was the antithesis of Jack. At least within the six boys of Peter's crew.

The **twins** , Devin and Felix Heart, were dressed in identical coats and hats. They had tried to apply war paint to their faces to appear more fierce, but the black paint around their eyes honestly just made them look like **raccoons**. Though Peter supposed that raccoons could be fierce. And cunning and stealthy. But also digging through garbage cans.

Draco Ula didn't say much, and when he did speak, he was usually dishing out insults or correcting people. He was good at keeping secrets and stealthily disappearing. If Peter ever needed a spy, he would chose Draco. Somehow, he'd gotten himself a girlfriend-cough-minion, and ever since then he had stopped smelling like a **skunk**. Peter's crew, no longer able to tease him for his smell, poked fun at his masculinity, occasionally stealing his phone and messing with his texting shortcuts. Each time he tried to say 'bye' or 'goodbye' or 'farewell,' his phone changed it to _heart_ _sparkle_ **Tootles**! _smiley face._

Baelfire Cassidy was the only ninth grader, and he was also the fastest of the six boys. Even though he was nowhere near Peter's speed and Peter had no reason to fear losing his title as the fastest, he was still shocked to discover that Baelfire could move with the speed of a startled **rabbit**. So much had changed about him during those three years of middle school. His dark hair, originally a childish floof, had since been cut much shorter. He had developed a new dress sense which included his ownership of at least three vests and had earned him the labeling of 'his **nibs** ' by Draco on at least one occasion. (Draco had been practicing British slang at the time. You know, to give his insults more flair.)

* * *

"You just have to be charming," David instructed.

"How do I do that?" Baelfire asked as they stood in the courtyard.

"Say sweet things, you know compliment her hair. Be chivalrous."

"Chivalrous?"

"Yeah, like… offer to carry her books." David suggested.

"She's not carrying any books."

"Look, she's going to go through that door. Open it for her."

"Like right now?"

"Go!" David commanded, shoving Baelfire in Emma's direction. He had to nearly run to reach the door before her.

"I got this, my lady." Baelfire said, all fancy like.

"Owwkaaay…" she gave him a weird look that made him start to doubt the advice of Snow's Prince Charming. Maybe not all girls worked the same way.

Then all of a sudden, an older boy shoved him out of the way and grabbed the door to hold it open for Emma who had not yet walked through it.

"Actually, I'm sure you will find my door holding skills are far superior." The older boy told Emma. "And that's not all," he added tracing his lips with a finger on his free hand.

"Don't listen to him, Emma," Bae told her as he grabbed hold of the other boy's leather jacket and yanked him out of the way. "He may have an accent, but I'm the total Bae. Literally. It's in my name."

"You know what," Emma started, "I think I'll just get the door myself."

"No!" Baelfire objected. "I was here first, I'll hold the door. This other…gentleman," he said, wishing to call the boy something much more foul but trying to act polite in front of the lady. Chivalry, he reminded himself. "…can hold the door for the next lovely lady."

"Like your mom?" the boy asked, but in a tone like he was delivering a punchline. He looked confused when no one laughed or fist bumped him.

"What are you talking about?" Bae asked. "My mom doesn't even go to this school."

"Oh, I can get any woman to come," he paused to wink at Emma. "If you know what I mean."

Baelfire wasn't sure if he expected Emma to giggle and blush, but she just looked at him like _what's wrong with you?_

"When I have sex with her," he felt the need to explain, but still no one laughed. Baelfire just made a face of disgust at the thought of this boy sleeping with his mother.

"Killian, please stop talking," Emma said. "You're just making a fool of yourself. You don't even have your minions with you to pretend you're funny."

She started to walk through the door, which Bae had been holding open this whole time, when Killian grabbed her arm. She immediately grabbed the hand, making him cry out in pain as she twisted his wrist.

"Touch me again, and you'll lose your hand," she threatened as she finally walked through the door.

Bae let go of the door handle and allowed it to close, letting out a low whistle as he did so. Emma Swan had impressed him.

"Oh, shut up!" Killian said bitterly as he shoved Baelfire again and walked away.


	20. Mulan

English class had always been a dull time for Mulan. Her eyes were fixed on the packet that the teacher had handed out, but she was just reading the same word over and over, not really paying attention. Poetry. Ugh. Just a bunch of pretty words. Sometimes they don't even rhyme.

The clacking of teacher shoes brought Mulan's eyes up from the page long enough to see Ms. Ingrid grabbing one of the many books that lined her shelves. You could tell which ones she liked based on the lines they left in the dust that caked the shelf like snow as she pulled them out to read excerpts to the class.

In fact, she was saying as she plucked the book and flipped to a page with a post it note sticking out of it.

"And so ended his affection," she spoke in a female English accent. "There has been many a one, I fancy, overcome in the same way. I wonder who first discovered the efficacy of poetry in driving away love!"

Then her voice changed as it became in more masculine, voicing the response of a male character. "I have been used to consider poetry as the _food_ of love."

Her voice returned to normal as she looked up from the book at the class. "So, children?" she asked, prompting discussion. Everyone just sat there quietly, looking at one another. "Well? I'm giving you a chance to talk about this."

Slowly, Jack raised his hand. "I think you should read Elizabeth's response," was all he said.

She smiled, glad that at least one person had done their summer reading of Pride and Prejudice. Clearing her throat, the teacher began once more in her feminine accent. "Of a fine, stout, healthy love it may. Everything nourishes what is strong already. But if it be only a slight, thin sort of inclination, I am convinced that one good sonnet will starve it entirely away."

Maybe poetry does have a purpose, Mulan thought.

_What do I do?_

_Unable to tell you_

_How I want to_

_Hold your hand when you're near_

_How you're my muse_

_And yet my greatest fear._

The teacher continued discussing the different uses of poetry, but Mulan was busy composing in her mind.

_Tongue in my throat,_

_Not speaking words I wrote_

_How in my mind,_

_When you flash me a grin,_

_I kiss your cheek._

_My lips against your skin_

And Mulan continued to write, in her mind, in a notebook locked away in a chest under her bed, perfecting every detail, every line of syllables, every rhyme of her amateur work, even if she was the only one who would ever see it. She was well aware of Regina's experiences with poetry. Aurora would never see or hear a single one of these words. No one ever would.

_'How do I look?' you ask._

_There's nothing I can say_

_Nothing honest, anyway._

_I'll sound like a lovesick fool._

_And when I saw you at our school_

_There was nothing to do but stare._

_At sparkling eyes, gorgeous hair,_

_Porcelain skin everywhere_

_Bright teeth and dimpled cheeks_

_So I just said nothing._

_As I replay,_

_There's nothing I could say_

_Nothing but words,_

_Meaningless, overused,_

_Nothing but lies,_

_Apathy to my muse._

"Hey Mulan!" Came his voice behind her as she walked down the halls after the class period was over. She turned to face the freshman.

"What?" she asked, maybe a bit too harshly.

"You-you forgot this," Phillip explained, holding out her lunchbox. No matter how much she wanted to hate him, to despise his very name, Mulan just couldn't. He was just a sweet little boy, and he was her friend. And that was the problem. He was perfect for Aurora. He listened to her, respected her, saw the same beauty in her that Mulan saw. His devotion to her was beyond question. She was a princess and he was her prince, a fairytale ending. For everyone except Mulan.

At first, it was all about making friends with Aurora, keeping a close eye on her prince, waiting for him to mess up. But Phillip was slowly becoming one of her best friends.

_I looked on as he kissed your cheek_

_I saw him hold your hand._

_I watched him acquiesce_

_To every one of your demands._

_I just looked on as he called you his_

_And you called him yours._

_I laugh through the pain_

_And keep moving, crawling on all fours_

But poetry made things more dramatic than they actually were. That was the point. It wasn't like Mulan cried herself to sleep every night or spent every waking moment thinking of this girl. It was more like a stare that lingered just a little too long when she saw Aurora, or a nose that got a little too close to when it was supposed to be smelling Aurora's new brand of shampoo that supposedly smelled like cotton candy.

Or mockingly calling her a princess because she can't handle dirt, but meaning it in a different way.

And saying nothing.


	21. Regina/Belle

_The small hand stalks,_

_30 seconds behind._

_The clock tick tocks,_

_Forever chasing time._

"Cool," Jack said, nodding his head as Regina showed him the paper. She was rather fond of it and was expecting a better response.

_Eluding detection,_

_Eschewing inspection,_

_Evading perception,_

_Like an imperfect rhyme._

"Do you get it?" She asked him. Emma would have gotten it. Even Robin would probably understand, but with Jack, she was never sure. Jack wasn't her best friend; in fact he was hardly her friend, but she would place him a bit higher than acquaintance or classmate on the scale. He was a nice guy, and she had been sitting next to him in homeroom for many months now.

_The frozen clock,_

_Twice a day brightly shines._

_The ones that balk_

_Ring like bells without chimes._

"Yeah, it's about a broken clock, right?" he asked.

_Absconding rejection,_

_Escaping correction,_

_So close to perfection,_

_Forever flawed in time._

"Kind of," she consented, "but more about trying to reach a goal and never quite attaining it. You see, most clocks have the same basic grasp of time, but very few are exactly synchronized. If you think about it, there is one exact time, one perfect time that all clocks strive to represent, but they can't reach it. And so they will always be so close to the right time, but never truly reach it, you know?"

He stared back at her blankly. "So it is about a broken clock. It's nice though. It rhymes."

"You don't understand the metaphorical message, do you?"

He groaned and gave her a look like _please don't make me do school stuff._

"Fine, then. I won't tell you."

"Thank-you. I've just had too much of English right now, too much analyzing and rhetorical devices and symbolism," he let his head fall to the desk as if to make a point. With his head sideways looking at her, he opened his eyes. "So…"

"La Ti Do?" she asked, earning a smirk.

And then the bell rang, and they departed without another word.

* * *

That Friday night, Belle did not expect to hear the chiming of her ringtone while she slept, but she got up and answered her phone anyway.

"Rumple," she said into the device, it is 2:46 in the morning. "Why are you calling me?"

"Yo-you sexy little thing" he slurred. "This is saw-so"

"Are you okay?" she asked, hoping that this was him acting.

"No, I'm Roo-Rumpa-stills" he struggled to say his name. Nope, it wasn't. "Rump-a-tin"

"Rumpelstiltskin," she started.

"Yeah, that."

"Do you need me to drive you home?"

"Uhhh… yes," he decided finally.

"Where are you?"

"Yeah, yeah, you gotta come here so I can run my tongue all over-"

"Where are you?" she asked again, louder and more forcefully.

It took some coaxing to finally get an answer, but eventually, Belle's car pulled up outside a large house filled with intoxicated teenagers (and a few odd adults who either didn't notice or care that that few few of these people had celebrated their 21st birthday).

And then she saw Rumple, but at the same time, it wasn't Rumple. Not the one she knew. This wasn't charming boy that gave her roses and left her notes and held her hand.

He had a mysterious stain on his fancy button down shirt. Rumple would never tolerate a thread out of place, much less a stain on his shirt. He was an actor, and he tried to make every aspect about him perfect.

Belle had slowly been able to enter in, to see the man behind the mask, the boy whose eyes watered with real tears when the paper cut his finger, tears he tried to disguise in his attempt to show manliness or something like that, but Belle saw them, and she kissed his boo-boo before giving him a band aid to make it better.

This was something else entirely. A teenager, whose countenance and demeanor had been so transformed by alcohol that he was hardly recognizable. It broke her heart to see Rumple like this.

It was difficult getting him to the car, both in that he was hesitant to leave and insisted on Belle staying and 'having some fun' (sure, because intoxication sounds like a whole lot of fun), and also in that he couldn't walk very well. She almost wished he had brought his cane.

Belle had to keep one hand on his waist to support him and the other holding the hand that kept trying to grope her.

She got him home alright, though. The worst part was when she got home to find her dad waiting there, on the porch. And his eyes showed all the anger, and disappointment that she knew was coming at her in the form of a speech.

And even though technically she did sneak out of the house to go to a party with alcohol and intoxicated teenage boys, one of whom she happened to be dating, it wasn't that bad. Right? It wasn't like she wanted to go to the party. It wasn't like she had anything to drink. It wasn't like anything happened with her and Rumple. She was just trying to help him get home safely. That was the right thing to do. Right?

Wrong. Getting grounded definitely meant that it was the wrong thing to do. But Belle had never been grounded before. She was a good kid. She always did what she was supposed to do. Well, mostly.

And then came the _why didn't you_ 's. Why didn't you wake me? Why didn't you just call him a cab? Why didn't you just tell me what was going on? Maybe I could have given him a ride.

To be perfectly honest, she didn't believe that Rumple would get in the cab even if she called one, nor did she believe that her dad would let her continue to date Rumple if he found out about this. She thought it would be swift and simple.

No phone, no friends, no leaving the house except for school. Which means that she couldn't go to the play, the one Rumple had worked so hard on. And she had to wait until Monday to explain to Ruby what was going on.


	22. Jefferson

Jefferson walked to the kitchen, taking the long way through the living room to check on Gracie. She was basically in the same position as when he had needed to staple papers a few minutes ago. Kneeling in front of the coffee table, her right hand using a marker to write on the poster, her left hand pointing to the passage of her science textbook from which she was reading. The little 'friend' Henry who absolutely had to come over to finish the project sat on the other side of the table, with his back to Jefferson, cutting out pictures for the poster. Because he couldn't do that at his own house.

He didn't realize that he was staring at them until Gracie gave him a look. A full on teenage glare that was a mix between _what do you want?_ and _go away._ She had begun to act this way lately, and he didn't like it one bit.

"I'm going to get a snack," he announced, both clarifying his purpose to Gracie and announcing his presence to Henry. "You guys want anything?"

"If you have some juice, that'd be great" Henry replied. "What about you, Grace?"

Jefferson chose to ignore the way he called her Grace rather than Gracie. She had recently decided that the name he had called her for twelve years was too 'childish.'

"Uh… crackers," she decided finally and Jefferson returned with a plate of crackers and a cup of juice. He then returned to the kitchen, looking for ketchup, parmesan cheese, honey mustard, and other wacky toppings. He and Gracie liked to play games where they would find the craziest toppings for their crackers.

He came back into the living room, his arms full of half empty bottles and containers, to find them still working on the poster. Henry had been careful enough to put his drink on a coaster and set it far enough away so that neither of them would accidentally bump it. Good. He was a mostly responsible kid, but that did not mean that he could reach for one of Gracie's crackers the same time she was. Their fingertips brushed and a pinkish tint colored both of their cheeks. Jefferson cleared his throat and both of their arms shot away from the plate like it was fire.

"I got toppings," Jefferson explained.

"Wait…what?" Henry asked, not understanding. Jefferson was afraid for a second that Gracie would pretend not to know what he was talking about or that the toppings were ridiculous or disgusting. But she didn't. She actually laughed and began to explain to Henry the rules of the game. Each person must pick two, preferably more, condiments to be toppings for the cracker and sample it. If it passes the first taste test, everyone must try it. The goal is to create the best topping (that sounds absurd but is amazing once you taste it).

It was fun, really. It was a long game, because everyone kept taking breaks to work on homework.

Henry underestimated the concentration of vanilla extract and had to stick his tongue under the bathroom faucet. That was about the time the doorbell rang.

Jefferson answered it to find a teenage girl too young to be Henry's mother, but old enough to go to high school.

"Are you here to get Henry?" he asked.

"Yes. But first, what do you know about curses?" She asked, low enough that neither Henry nor Gracie could hear.

"Excuse me?" He asked.

"You're Jefferson, right?"

"Yeah, but-"

"You were conscious during the last curse and I wanted to know if you were in this one. Are you?"

"Ummm… what are you talking about?"

"Okay, what about a hat?"

"A hat?"

"Yes, I'm sure you have some special hat around here." She entered the house and started looking around, smiling politely at Gracie. She grabbed a hat hanging on a hook and gave it a light, Frisbee toss so that it landed upside down on the floor spinning. "Thought not," she muttered, disappointed. She replaced the hat on its hook. "Oh, I'm Regina, by the way."

So that's what her name was. He had seen her breifly, passing through the hallway, but they had never spoken to each before that day. They weren't in the same grade.

Regina asked to speak to him in private. _Was she flirting with him?_ He narrowed his eyes at her. _No, she seemed pretty gay._

"Yeah, sure," he said, sounding more confused than willing.

"Don't worry, it won't take too long," she assured him. "My dad's waiting in the car."

"Why?"

"Learner's permit," Regina explained, waving the laminated card at him.

"No, I mean, why did you make him wait in the car?"

She shrugged. "It's not like he's real or anything."

As she continued talking, he stared back at her wondering if she was joking or completely and utterly mad. She told him all about curses and books and he just kept nodding. And then, seeing that he didn't believe her, started asking him questions. Questions that he was surprised to find that he couldn't answer. Questions about his parents, his life, the school and its teachers. She was mad, all right. But maybe just mad enough to be right.

"So you're in?" she asked finally.

He nodded once more, giving her the same wild grin as he gave Gracie the first time he introduced grapes as a topping.


	23. Ambrose

_Tuesday, January 12th._

_I have not written in this journal for a while. Junior year has me really busy._

_I had an_ _nice_ _interesting bus ride today. Usually I do not like buses, but my brother got grounded again and whenever that happens, he loses his car and we have to take the bus to and from school._

_School buses smell funny and are filled with immature teenagers who don't understand noise control_ _and_ _. I am going to try to describe this experience before I get sidetracked._

_I was sitting on the left side, the third seat from the front to go home from school, looking out the window and not making eye contact, when this really popular, really athletic, really handsome, really someone who shouldn't be talking to me, senior asks me in a deep melodious voice: "Is this seat taken?"_

_I shook my head nervously and he sat down, hoping that he wasn't here to hurt me or make fun of me for being_ _antisocial_ _a dork_ _odd_ _me._

_"I'm Lance," he said, extending his hand to shake mine._

_"A-a" I tried to say, stumbling over my tongue. He didn't make fun. He just patiently waited for me to regain control. "Ambrose."_

_There were a few moments of silence before he got uncomfortable and started asking me questions. I think he was trying to find some common ground so that we would have something to talk about. I answered them as best I could. I told him about my bug collection_ _and how I was studying the effects of_ _. He told me about his fencing tournament._

_We didn't get to talk long because he had to get off. I spent the rest of the ride thinking about this strange experience. I have to go now. My mom and brother have started fighting again and I don't want to have another panic attack._

_Thursday, January 14th_

_I just don't understand why Lance wants to sit next to me, let alone talk to me._

_I am starting to develop an interest in Lance._ _I had to cross that out because it made me sound gay. Let me be very clear on this subject, future me reading this. I have liked girls ever since the fourth grade. Just girls. Girls like Aurora Rose who smells as beautiful as she looks, and that really smart senior named Tiana that does the morning announcements. Got it?_

_Lance just seems to have the life I want. He is respected and well-liked by his peers. Girls think that he is hot, with his smooth chocolate skin,_ _as opposed to my bumpy epidermis that I have to take special medicine to keep somewhat under control. My mom is starting to think that the medicine makes my anxiety worse, and it does, but I tell her that I'm okay because I don't want to worry her and I know that if I do, she will make me stop taking it and then I will start looking like even more of a toad than usual,_ _sharp jaw line, and dark brown eyes. I can kind of see how he is handsome, which makes it even stranger that he has chosen me, of all people to sit next to on the bus not only Tuesday, but Wednesday and Thursday as well. He only rides the bus home, though. I think someone drops him off in the mornings._

_Tuesday January 19_ _th_

_Lance and I have been on a quest to find something that we have in common. He likes mangos and gory television shows (I don't), but hates reading books and is grossed out by bugs, the two things I like the most. The closest we have come is our favorite color. His is blue and mine is indigo (blue and purple)._

_I am going to make a list of things that I like so that I can remember to tell him tomorrow._

_10_ _9 Things I like the most in the world:_

_1\. Pineapple juice_

_2\. The smell of rain_

_3\. Breathing on the car windows when it is cold and drawing little snowmen_

_4\. The sheer quiet of the special room in the abbey my mom brings me to when she is stressed out about my brother and wants to 'cleanse my spirit' or whatever so that I don't turn out like him._

_5\. Eating watermelon and spitting the seeds at my brother, like we used to before_

_6\. Everything being clean_

_7\. Reading (as I mentioned before)_

_8\. Collecting and studying insects_

_9\. Making my mom happy_

_10._

_Sorry. I couldn't think of a 10_ _th_ _thing._

_Friday January 22_ _nd_

_Lance's favorite -_

_I also found out that Lance's last name is Dulac and I thought that was funny because it means 'of the lake' in French, like Lancelot Du Lac. He did not understand the reference and I was shocked to discover that he had never heard of the ill made knight or Camelot. I educated him on the subject._

_Wednesday January 27_ _th_

_When Lance was not on the bus on Monday, I thought maybe he was sick. He also wasn't there Tuesday._

_Earlier today, while I was at school, I saw him stumble out of the main office. He looked pale and confused. I said hi to him and asked him if he was alright._

_He looked straight through me, like I wasn't there. He looked scared. Very scared. I was worried that he might have a panic attack and so I stayed there with him even though the tardy bell was about to ring and I would be late for third period._

_I tried talking to him, but it was like he couldn't hear me. He grew impossibly pale, so much so that I thought there was a problem with my vision and I rubbed my eyes._

_And then he was gone. As if he had never been there in the first place. I was standing alone._

_The next thing I remember is waking up in the nurse's office. The nurse, who was an elderly woman, smiled at me and said that I had fainted and hit my head. I didn't remember this, but I guess it must have happened because my head hurt pretty badly._

_I asked her if Lance was alright, but she did not know who I was talking about. She thought I was hallucinating, that I had imagined him. That is what my psychiatrist says._

_I never went to third period that day. My mom showed up to take me home so that I could rest. I think she was a bit upset about having to leave work in the middle of the day. I tried to tell her that I was fine and that I could stay the rest of the day and ride home on the bus, but she wouldn't hear of it._

_A few weeks ago, I would have loved to have my mom drive me home, she reminded me. I nodded and got into the car. My head still felt like someone was banging on my skull from the inside, and I was by no means fine, but I wanted to see Lance. I needed to make sure that he was alright. I needed to see his face as it is supposed to be, all confident and happy. I need to erase from my mind that impossibly deadly pale terrified face that I saw earlier today._

_Monday February 1_ _st_ _._

_My psychiatrist wants to see some of the notes I made about Lance, but my journal isn't something that I want to share. Instead, I am making a list of the ten things about Lance Dulac:_

_1\. He loves fencing and is pretty great at it_

_2\. His favorite color is blue_

_3\. Mangos are his favorite fruit_

_4\. He likes gory television shows_

_5\. He sat next to me on the bus ride home every day for two weeks_

_6\. His eyes were the kind of dark brown that, from a certain distance, blends with his pupils_

_7\. He smelled like coco butter_

_8\. He had a calm disposition, like he didn't care what was going to happen as long as he could be a part of it._

_9\. He was in the twelfth grade_

_10\. He was my friend_

_Friday, February 5_ _th_

_You know that feeling when you read something that you wrote maybe ten years ago and you recognize that you wrote it, but cannot remember writing it? This is how I feel about my journal. It doesn't make sense to me. I do not know who Lance Dulac is apart from an imagined version of the ill made knight. But I think I have figured something out. The incomplete list of the ten things I love most in this world is one of the few entries I remember making. I keep looking back at that empty spot next to the ten. I am sure that I could have come up with a tenth thing, but I left it blank._

_Maybe at the time, I did not understand why, but now I do. I had filled that spot, with words that I was too afraid to write at the time. Before I forget, I need to write them now._


	24. Victor

"Fish!" Cyrus called.

Victor had gotten used to people calling him 'Fish.' He used to be upset about people belittling him to make themselves feel more powerful, but it happened so often that he had become numb to it. After all, he was physically much smaller than even those in his own grade and that alone set him apart from the others.

But they were unimportant, so he paid little attention to them. He only knew Cyrus's name because he was playing the title character in the production of King Lear. Theater. Another class where he was the only 9th grader. They didn't allow 9th graders to act in the plays, but Victor wanted to have an extracurricular that didn't involve sports, and managing the sound effects and lighting was about as close as he could get to something that he actually liked to do.

"Yes?" Victor responded with a sigh. The one thing he hated about theater was having to deal with the last minute concerns of the actors.

"How's my hair?" Cyrus asked, in complete seriousness.

"It makes you look old," Victor responded. It was true. Cyrus was wearing a gray haired wig that made him look more like the middle aged king than a high school student.

"But is it like kingly? Or…"

"It's fine." Victor told him. "Really."

Cyrus didn't look too convinced, but he nodded and left Victor alone. He had a few moments alone with his thoughts, before…

"VICKY!" Astrid shouted, seemingly appearing out of nowhere.

His body tensed up as she wrapped her arms tightly around him. He hated this, and he was, unfortunately, not her only victim.

"You are just the cutest little thing," she exclaimed once she finally let him go.

"Uh, thanks?"

She kissed his cheek and then slapped him when he tried to rub it off. And honestly, she did this to most of the boys at the school. Victor had often wondered that if Astrid was a boy touching and making unwelcome advances on girls, the situation would be taken more seriously. But society dictates that males are supposed to be stronger than females, more powerful, more open to sexual advances.

They were supposed to just put up with Astrid, enjoy it even.

When she was finally gone, he closed the door and locked it. It was not locked long before he heard a knocking.

 _Go Away,_ he thought. More knocking. _Please_.

"Hello?" Came a girl's voice. But it wasn't Astrid.

Victor hesitantly unlocked and opened the door to see Ruby. Victor knew her from his lab group in Chemistry. She smiled, her bright red lipstick matching the red rose she held in her hands.

"That's a nice flower," was all he could think to say.

"Yeah," Ruby admitted. "I'm supposed to deliver it to…" she paused for a moment, scanning the room with her highly skilled eyes, "there he is."

She walked off in the direction of an older boy, the Earl of Gloucester, to deliver her rose.

Victor checked the casting list and learned that the Earl of Gloucester was a 12th grader named Rumpelstiltskin Gold. He wasn't the lead in the play, but he seemed to be quite popular. There was another girl after Ruby that wanted to visit him. Instead of a rose, this girl carried a large book.

That immediately got Victor's attention. He was easily distracted by books. Every time he went to the library to find himself a book to read, he always felt bad for the books that he didn't pick up. Years ago, Victor had started a list of books that he wanted to read. The trouble was, as time went on, he kept adding books to the list faster than he could read the books on the list, and as a result the list kept getting longer. Victor could read a lot, but he could never read everything that he wanted to.

But back to the girl with the book. Victor tried to read the title, but there wasn't one. She held it like it was the single most important book in the world, and Victor admired that. She seemed to be younger than Rumpelstiltskin, but she didn't act shy or do any of the giggly fangirl stuff. It seemed that she wished to speak to him for reasons unrelated to his acting.

Victor watched as the girl spoke to Rumpelstiltskin, motioning to the book and eventually opening it to reveal numerous handwritten notes. They talked for a little more and he wrote down his own notes, with a sly smile. They seemed to be planning something important, but Victor couldn't tell what.


	25. Rumpelstiltskin

_When do actors stop acting?_ Rumple wondered to himself. _When they step off the stage._ But if all the world's a stage, Shakespeare said, then it never really stops. We just act as different characters, different versions of ourselves, maybe not even noticing that we are doing so. There are so many aspects of a person, so many different traits and emotions to exhibit, so many expectations to meet, so many masks to put on.

He had always believed that real people were characters, but never quite imagined that in the way Regina proposed.

A dark haired boy in a velvet purple vest stepped out of room 241. While pretending to drink from the water fountain, Rumple watched the younger boy and smirked to himself. _He does have my eyes, and my superior dress sense._

It seemed strange to think of this boy, who was only three years younger, as his son. It seemed stranger still to become attached to someone whom he had never actually spoken to.

Regina wanted Rumple's help. She wanted to break the curse, to put everything back to the way it 'should be.' Why should she be able to decide how things should be? Why did he have to be a supernatural being plagued with misfortunes? Why couldn't he just be a high school student? With no tragic backstory, and no curse, and no dead son.

 _Because this isn't real,_ Regina had told him. It seemed real to him, he protested.

 _Of course it does,_ she had shot back. _It's like when you're dreaming. You don't know that you are dreaming until you wake up._

Rumple didn't want to wake up, but already he was starting to notice the little things, the blurred memories, the general confusion over the identity of the principal, the lack of teachers' first names, the nun that stalked him. At a certain point, he could no longer deny that something strange was going on, and as Regina offered the only explanation, he had no choice but to believe her. That didn't stop him from trying reconnect with Baelfire. Rumple didn't remember his son now, but he knew that once he woke up, not speaking to his son would be the thing he most regretted. But how could he even begin a conversation?

Hi, you don't know me, but I'm your father in another world. Yes, I know that I'm only three years older than you and you already have an actual father, but it's the truth! Wait, no! I'm not crazy. Come back!

No. Bad idea. But becoming a stalker was hardly a better one.

After school that day, Rumpelstiltskin walked outside. It was a calm, peaceful spring day, the perfect time to confront his own stalker. He walked slowly down the sidewalk near a patch of trees that would make great cover. Eventually, he heard it. The faint rustle of leaves. He spun around quickly, hoping to see the figure, but no one was there.

"I know you're there," he called. I'm not supposed to, and you might erase my memory, but before you do, I have a few questions. You can give me that, can't you?"

Suddenly one of the trees transformed into a woman who smiled at him. It wasn't necessarily a warm smile, nor did it seem to have any cruel intention. He knew enough about masks and acting to know that this woman was trying to appear nicer than she really was, which made her even more intimidating.

"I will answer one question for you," she spoke with a cold and unemotional tone, like she was a judge. There was something else, though. Something almost motherly, but it was so faint that it was barely detectable. "But understand that what I am giving you is not a reward for your own deeds, but a punishment for my own."

Rumpelstiltskin knew that he had to say something, anything. But he also knew that the moment he asked a question, he would not be able to take it back. He kept his mouth shut and the woman's lips formed a cruel smile.

"Good, I knew you were intelligent. I will come back here in one week. You have until then. If you are still her in two weeks, I will erase myself from your mind for and you will not see me again."

He blinked and she was gone. Rumpelstiltskin was left alone, still not sure whether he imagined her or if this was some strange part of the dream. Either way, he had a feeling that Regina knew exactly what question to ask.

How do we break this curse?

He just hoped that he would be able to abandon his own desires for the greater good.


	26. Maleficent/Emma

Madame Maleficent carefully peeled the poster away from the wall. She drew in a deep breath blew on it, sending ash into the face of her boss.

"Monsieur!" She exclaimed, forgetting at first to switch to English. "Je suis désolé. Je ne vous-" she stopped herself. "I did not see you there. I am very sorry, sir. I-"

He waved her off, taking out a hancercheif from his pocket and wiping his glasses with them. Strangely, he did not remove them from his head as he wiped away the ash and Madame began to wonder if she had ever seen him without his glasses, but she probably had, at some point. Actually, now that she thought about it, she realized her mind was drawing a blank on even seeing the man before, with or without glasses.

"It's not you who should be apologizing, Madmoiselle." He told her in a melodious voice that sent shivers down her spine and she wondered if she had ever heard anything as beautiful as this man's voice. "I assure you that the ludicrous hooligans responsible for this vandalism will be punished."

Oh, yes. The vandalism. That was why he was here. Someone had drawn a very nice dragon on her board, which would have been fine if the dragon's imaginary fire breath had not caused real damage to her classroom, resulting in the ashy filth that coated her room and the hair of the man. In her hands, she held a poster which had once asked _Combien?_ but now the inquisitive cartoon boy simply wondered _Comb_. It would have been quite amusing had it happened to someone other than her. She supposed that was the purpose of senior pranks, after all. Other teachers had returned on Monday to find damage from golden spraypaint, wood shavings, googly eyes, and even birds. Madame Maleficent was the only one with damage from fire.

She turned back to the wall and brushed more ash from the marker tray beneath the white board.

"You needn't worry yourself with trifles such as this." He remarked. "I can have members of our janitorial staff or even the students themselves work on cleaning up this mess. I think it might be a good educational tool, to show them the problems their prank has caused."

"With all due respect, I would feel better doing this myself. Many of these posters are comment dit-on delicate and I wouldn't want them to get ruined."

"Of course, Morgan," he replied, bowing slightly.

"Pardon?" I asked. Morgan. Why did that name sound so familiar?

"I said: of course, Madame. Although I will send someone to remove this ashy filth."

I smiled gratefully and he turned to go.

Morgan. He definitely said Morgan. I grabbed a pen and wrote it on my hand.

Everything we talked about was starting to slip away from my memory, but Morgan felt like something I should remember. Soon it was all I could remember from the past few minutes, and even then I had no idea how it came to be written on my hand, for it looked like my handwriting, but I could not recollect writing it.

* * *

Emma entered the house of Ella Cinder and was surprised to see how neat and clean it was. Not that Ella was a messy person, quite the opposite. But Emma never realized that a house could actually be clean enough to function as a mirror. She took a few steps into the house.

"Shoes!" Ella told her, gesturing to the neat pile of shoes by the doorway. Emma noticed that Ella was wearing socks.

Sorry, Emma apologized, taking off her shoes and placing them as neatly as she could with the others. Apparently, she didn't do it right, because Ella sighed and fixed it.

Then Ella knelt down on her knees and began to scrub the patch of floor that Emma's shoes had touched. Emma was confused. It wasn't as if she had tracked mud inside the house. Her shoes were clean.


	27. Ella

Madame Maleficent carefully peeled the poster away from the wall. She drew in a deep breath blew on it, sending ash into the face of her boss.

"Monsieur!" She exclaimed, forgetting at first to switch to English. "Je suis désolé. Je ne vous-" she stopped herself. "I did not see you there. I am very sorry, sir. I-"

He waved her off, taking out a hancercheif from his pocket and wiping his glasses with them. Strangely, he did not remove them from his head as he wiped away the ash and Madame began to wonder if she had ever seen him without his glasses, but she probably had, at some point. Actually, now that she thought about it, she realized her mind was drawing a blank on even seeing the man before, with or without glasses.

"It's not you who should be apologizing, Madmoiselle." He told her in a melodious voice that sent shivers down her spine and she wondered if she had ever heard anything as beautiful as this man's voice. "I assure you that the ludicrous hooligans responsible for this vandalism will be punished."

Oh, yes. The vandalism. That was why he was here. Someone had drawn a very nice dragon on her board, which would have been fine if the dragon's imaginary fire breath had not caused real damage to her classroom, resulting in the ashy filth that coated her room and the hair of the man. In her hands, she held a poster which had once asked _Combien?_ but now the inquisitive cartoon boy simply wondered _Comb_. It would have been quite amusing had it happened to someone other than her. She supposed that was the purpose of senior pranks, after all. Other teachers had returned on Monday to find damage from golden spraypaint, wood shavings, googly eyes, and even birds. Madame Maleficent was the only one with damage from fire.

She turned back to the wall and brushed more ash from the marker tray beneath the white board.

"You needn't worry yourself with trifles such as this." He remarked. "I can have members of our janitorial staff or even the students themselves work on cleaning up this mess. I think it might be a good educational tool, to show them the problems their prank has caused."

"With all due respect, I would feel better doing this myself. Many of these posters are comment dit-on delicate and I wouldn't want them to get ruined."

"Of course, Morgan," he replied, bowing slightly.

"Pardon?" I asked. Morgan. Why did that name sound so familiar?

"I said: of course, Madame. Although I will send someone to remove this ashy filth."

I smiled gratefully and he turned to go.

Morgan. He definitely said Morgan. I grabbed a pen and wrote it on my hand.

Everything we talked about was starting to slip away from my memory, but Morgan felt like something I should remember. Soon it was all I could remember from the past few minutes, and even then I had no idea how it came to be written on my hand, for it looked like my handwriting, but I could not recollect writing it.

* * *

Emma entered the house of Ella Cinder and was surprised to see how neat and clean it was. Not that Ella was a messy person, quite the opposite. But Emma never realized that a house could actually be clean enough to function as a mirror. She took a few steps into the house.

"Shoes!" Ella told her, gesturing to the neat pile of shoes by the doorway. Emma noticed that Ella was wearing socks.

Sorry, Emma apologized, taking off her shoes and placing them as neatly as she could with the others. Apparently, she didn't do it right, because Ella sighed and fixed it.

Then Ella knelt down on her knees and began to scrub the patch of floor that Emma's shoes had touched. Emma was confused. It wasn't as if she had tracked mud inside the house. Her shoes were clean.


	28. Merlin

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: I originally wrote this story during season 4, so nothing after the season 4 finale is canon in my story. So all that season 5 stuff, it never happened.**

The first thing you need to know is that there are two worlds. What you know as your world, Earth, and my home. Just like your world, my world has many names, but I will refer to it as Gael. Earth and Gael are similar enough that they are often referred to as twins. Perhaps their similarity allows easy travel between the two. More likely, the easy travel causes the similarity. Whatever the case, travel between the two is remarkably simple for my sister and me, and possible for even simple humans such as yourself.

Each world has its own rules. What is only fiction in your world exists in mine. Fiction. Only Earth would devise a word to describe both the wondrous world of impossibility and a cruel lie.

Many things in Gael you would describe as fiction. What you call magic being the foremost of them. Magic. That's from Gael. It's a way of accepting what we cannot understand. It doesn't make sense on Earth, I understand. You have your science. But whether magic is primitive science or whether science is primitive magic is a topic for debate.

Each world has its own advantages. Perhaps what is most important is not Gael or Earth, but the link between them.

Not that there is a big shiny portal in the sky or anything. But travel is possible. I spent a lot of time in your world and I learned that, on Earth, travel is quite easy for young children. Imagination. Pretend. Minds traveling between worlds. Sometimes beyond both Earth and Gael (but I won't go into that right now). When you mature, you are forced to give up on stories (or face an asylum). Your imagination begins to fade (slowly at first) the moment you accept the word impossible. Soon you reach a point where travel between worlds only happens while you are asleep.

Even then, the memory of your journey fades quickly when faced with the rationality of Earth.

The memories live in your subconscious. Sometimes they come back, during times when they would be accepted without tearing down the constructed rules of your reality. Fiction. Imagination. What is literature but a window to another world? What is a story but a memory?

Early on, in Gael, a queen cast a curse, transporting people not only to Earth, but to many years in the future. You already know that. The area in Gael known as the Enchanted Forest has seen many travelers from Earth over the years. Its inhabitants have been immortalized in Earth stories, and you may be familiar with many of them.

You probably have some questions.

First, who am I?

You might call me child that never grew up. Who never accepted the word "impossible." You might call me a scientist who spent a good portion of his immortal life researching travel between worlds. You might even call me a sorcerer. My life is certainly filled with many things that your mind will only accept as magic.

Second, what happened to all of the children at my school?

Back in my homeland on Gael, I befriended a marvelous young boy. He was called Wart, but his name was Arthur Pendragon. His heart was kind and I believed that I could make him like me, a true believer and traveler between worlds. I loved him. I grew distracted by Nimue and he was left with no one to guide him, no one to warn him about his half-sister Morgause's plots or the closeness growing between his best friend Lancelot and his wife Guinevere. I didn't see him again, but he saw me.

How does that work exactly? Well, I am not just a traveler between Gael and Earth. I also travel through time. (One of my favorite Earth writers T. H. White believed incorrectly that I was aging backwards. Apart from that, his story is pretty accurate, though he did have some help from me. Few Earth stories exist in Gael, but I brought that book, among my other favorite stories to my world.) It was a younger version of myself that met with Arthur before he died. I hardly knew him then. I wish I savored that moment more.

We were promised that Arthur would come again. For a long time, I thought the son of the evil queen and Snow White's daughter was the boy I was looking for. Henry Mills believed in these stories more fiercely than many other Earth children. But when surrounded by characters, how could he not? I wanted to get close to him while he was on Earth, but my sister wouldn't let me. She had been playing along with the queen's curse, pretending to be a mindwiped nun, but she retained her power. She could easily travel back to Gael, but she stayed to protect and watch over the others. She kept me from entering the town, and I could only watch from afar.

She promised that she would watch over the boy for me, but was afraid that I would corrupt him. Me!? Saying that we don't always see eye to eye would be the understatement of the century, but we work together when necessity demands it.

She always believed in helping those she deemed "innocent." I warned her about the rules a time traveler must obey. She never listened to me. She always seemed to help those in need.

_"I'm not you," she had said to me. "I can't just stand by and watch innocent people suffer."_

_"There is no such thing as an innocent person. It is our duty as travelers to maintain the proper order of things," I reminded her._

_"And who decides what is proper?" She asked. "Is suffering proper? I denying help to those in need proper?"_

_"All that lives must die, passing from nature into eternity," I quoted. "Everything suffers. We should leave well enough alone."_

_"You are such a hypocrite!" She never yelled. "What about Art? How can you help that boy and then deny me the same right?"_

_I had no answer. I loved Art. No. Love. He's not gone._

_"Everything that lives must die," she quoted back to me._

_No, I thought. Not him. Never him._

_"Sounds a whole lot crueler now, doesn't it?" she asked._

_I fought back a tear, knowing she had won. I gave in._

I mentioned before that my sister and I can work together. Our combined powers can accomplish amazing things. The world we created isn't necessarily an afterlife, but close to it. My sister nearly made herself into a goddess, rewarding the worthy and punishing the wicked in our new land.

It's not a new land exactly. I told you that Storybrooke existed on Earth in the future relative to the enchanted forest. Many Earth stories come from Gael's distant past, for good reason. What you don't know it that there was a war in Gael. A great war. So many stories about the apocalypse were based on the war. So many were killed, but it was a fixed point in time, and for once, my sister and I were powerless to stop it. It was horrible, but I accepted it. She didn't.

Not much survived the war. We were left with an empty world. A new land. We set up borders, creating our very own Storybrooke. We drew in people from different points in their life (I didn't reverse anyone's death. I just suspended the inevitable.). From there, I wanted to make them young children, but the spell only went so far. Their memories were gone, of course. Travel between worlds does that to people, as I explained before, about the dreams. We may have helped with the memory erase. My sister didn't want them left with anything that might cause them unnecessary pain.

My sister could never resist helping children. It was probably as penance, because she abandoned her own child. She brought him here to, to give him a chance now that he was no longer the dark one.

Henry saw my world as a curse. My sister saw it as a blessing, perhaps even a paradise. I saw it as an experiment, an opportunity to study the responses of my subjects when faced with different obstacles and stimuli.

I prefer watching my subjects to interacting with them. I have spoken to very few, only when it was necessary. Prentiss acted as my vice principal. He dealt with my students and teachers.

When Henry got all riled up about wanting to find out the truth, I had to erase his memories. He would ruin not only the experiment but my sister's paradise. That was the only time I interfered directly.

The nature of the spell draws in important characters, those written about in Earth legends and fables. Because of my own involvement in Arthur's life and timeline, I was not able to bring him here. I had hoped that I would be able to create something like him, or perhaps draw in his prophesied reincarnation. It's not Henry.

* * *

I knew what the evil queen and Rumpelstiltskin were up to, distracting me with a destructive senior prank so that they could break into my office and steal the dark one's dagger. Prentiss was in for a shock when they tied him up, though (I had hoped he would put up more of a fight). I added an extra challenge by creating a barrier spell that denied them both access, and they countered with the knave of hearts. They impressed me.

It is the real dagger. I wondered what they would do with it, now that they had it. I wonder what they planned to do, before discovering that Emma was the new dark one.

Now the two of them simply stand before me with the weapon drawn, as if spilling my blood would end what they call a "horrible curse."

"Do you really believe you can harm me with that?" I asked, playing the part of the villain they expected me to be. "I doubt that wavey knife holds as much power as you think it does."

"Nice try, sorcerer," Rumpelstiltskin replied. "This is the dark one's dagger."

"And you are not the dark one," I reminded him. My nephew glared at me with hatred, and I knew that discovery had been hard for him. Without his power, the deal making imp was just a younger version of the crippled old man with a silly name.

"No," came a voice from behind me. Emma Swan, making a dramatic entrance. "But I am." She grabbed the dagger away from him and turned to face me. Her blonde hair glistened in the moonlight and I found myself staring at it with curiosity. This is the girl who was born on Gael but grew up on Earth, who fancies herself a savior because she broke the queen's curse with a true love's kiss.

Her left hand held the dagger as her right hand moved towards her chest. Regina screamed and tried to rush towards her dear friend, but I held up my hand and froze the queen, her wide eyes still filled with terror and her mouth miming a scream. Emma's face contorted with pain as she pulled out her own heart with a defiant squish.

It takes a lot to surprise me, but that was one of the few moments in my life that I did not anticipate.

Emma's heart was neither the pure red of an innocent child, nor the filthy black of a dark one. It was even a mixture of the two.

Her heart glowed with golden light the color of her hair, and in that moment, I realized why I was staring at her hair earlier. Why it had been so important to me that her fake blonde hair be made real in my world.

I released the queen and she rushed forward, grabbing Arthur's heart and trying to push it back into Emma's chest. It didn't work. The force knocked Emma to the ground and Regina knelt over her, tears in her eyes as she tried in vain to put Emma's heart back.

Rumpelstiltskin watched the scene in confusion. To him, it looked like Regina was giving the other girl some strange version of CPR. My sister appeared and placed her hand on the boy's shoulder. She knocked him out with a wave of her hand and cradled him in her arms.

"I'm sorry," she mouthed to me, before the two of them disappeared.

Finally Emma placed her hands on Regina's shoulders and told her that everything was going to be fine, that they would break this curse and all return home.

"Not without you," Regina was able to choke through sobs. The sight nearly brought tears to my own eyes.

Emma smiled at Regina and stood up. She gripped Regina's hand which held Arthur's heart, raising the dagger to stab it, and I did the only thing I could think to do.

"Wait!" I yelled, in the guise of Henry. Both of his moms turned to look at me.

Emma dropped the dagger in shock, and I ran to her.

"Mom, you don't have to do this." I allowed myself to cry. I embraced my friend and kicked the dagger away with my foot.

Regina doubted that I was the real Henry. She wondered what happened to the sorcerer, but she didn't voice her suspicion out loud. Emma was safe, and that was what mattered. My sister once asked me why I changed Regina's memory of Daniel and made Robin a female. I thought it was an interesting variable to throw into the mix. I didn't actually change her sexuality, just her memories of Daniel. I wanted to see if how she perceived her emotions and attraction would have any effect on them. I wanted to see if she would fall for a female Robin. I did not anticipate her feelings for Snow White's daughter.

I wanted to snap my fingers and cause both of them to fall unconscious so that I could wipe their memories and replace Arthur's heart, but I wasn't sure if my powers would work on the dark one. It took both my sister and me to erase her memories the first time, and now my sister was gone. She would be back eventually, and I just had to stall until then. I had to convince Emma that I was her son, and that there was another way to end the curse without sacrificing herself. It would be easy as long as Emma didn't start to remember her past. Regina would help me, though. Anything to keep Emma alive.

"I'm doing this for you," she said, touching the hand that once held the dagger to my cheek. Her other hand still gripped the heart in Regina's hand. "This is the only way to break the curse."

"No," I commanded, with the all the force the twelve year old boy could muster. "It isn't." I had to talk her down from the ledge. "I'll get the book. It will tell us what to do." My voice was laced with magic and I saw her grip loosen as she blinked in confusion.

"You're not…" her voice trailed off and she glanced around the room. "Where's the sorcerer?"

I snapped my fingers, but only managed to knock out Regina, who let go of the heart as she fell to the floor unconscious. Emma looked at me and her grip tightened.

"Sweetheart," I tried, in the guise of Snow White. "Don't hurt yourself."

"You're not my mother!" She screamed. I tried again and again to knock her out, but her grip only tightened more and she fell to her knees in pain.

I locked eyes with my sister, who had finally decided to show up, and knocked out Emma Swan. I picked up the golden heart and held it out to my sister.

"Is that…" she didn't need to finish the question.

"You knew, didn't you?"

"I-" she tried to finish, but I cut her off.

"It wasn't just Henry that you were keeping me away from."

"I'm sorry, but-" I didn't hear what she said next, because I waved my hand and vanished, taking the heart with me. I needed to keep it safe, and I was the only one I could trust to do that.

And then I went back to Earth, leaving my sister to clean up the mess.


End file.
